UPON THE 



}'t>KM3, .PKOSE -AND 
SELECTIONS 













.O. M. HVHf 




Class ^ 5^515. 

Boolc.____ 

GopyiigtitN^ !.___ 



CliEnUGHT DEPOSIT. 



EARLY DAYS UPON THE 
PLAINS OF TEXAS 

Together with 

POEMS, PROSE AND 
SELECTIONS 



>. M?^HUN 



GEO. M?^HUNT 

Lubbock, Texas 






SfcP 13 1^20 



PREFACE AND DEDICATION 

It has been in the mind of the Au- 
thor for some time to prepare a small 
.book for publication, containing sev- 
eral of his Poems, and other writings, 
but in offering it to the Public, he lays 
no claim to superiority, nor that his 
productions rank above those of me- 
diocrity, but with the hope that some 
of his poems may appeal to the senti- 
mental reader, and inspire him with 
loftier ideals of life, and nobler living. 

To his Woman's Wesley Class that 
he taught for eight years, and to his 
own dear children, he dedicates this 
little volume. 



Copyright Applied For, 1919 

A. G. and C. E. Hunt 

Lubbock, Texas 



©CI.A5973?? 



BRIEF BIOGRAPHY OF THE AUTHOR. 

George Madden Hunt was born February 1 9 th, 
1843, near Wilmington, in Clinton County, Ohio. 

He was next to the youngest of a family of ten 
children, all of whom were school teachers. His 
opportunities for schooling purposes, were limited, 
being able to attend only a three month winter 
term each year. But being anxious to receive an 
education, he applied himself diligently to his stud- 
ies, during the summer months, assisted by his old- 
er sisters. His father w^as a modest tiller of the 
soil, and lived with this large family on a one-hun- 
dred acre farm. In addition to his agricultural pur- 
suits, he was a hog buyer, purchasing those of his 
neighbors, in the surrounding community, and when 
he collected a drove of some two-hundred, w^ould 
drive them to market at Cincinnati, a distance of 
thirty-five miles. He w^as noted for his integrity 
and fair dealing, and this principle w^as instilled in 
the mind of George in his early years. In 1855, his 
father, Robert Hunt, being in poor health, sold the 
old Homestead, and for a few years the family liv- 
ed on a rented farm. In 1856 he died when George 
w^as in his fourteenth year, and the burdens of the 
family fell largely upon himself, and his older 
brother, Henry. 

In the fall of 1860 the family moved to Preble 
County, and located near West Elkton. Here 
George attended school the following winter, and 
in the Spring of 1861, began teaching at the age 
of eighteen. He attended the high school at West 



Elkton the next winter, and in 1862, he returned 
to Clinton County with his youngest sister, accom- 
panied by two of her young girl friends, and all at- 
tended the summer term of the high school at Mar- 
tinsville. While there President Lincoln issued the 
call for seventy-five thousand volunteers, and tho 
he already had two brothers in the Federal Army, 
George volunteered and returned to West Elkton, 
to await a pass from the recruiting officer at Colum- 
bus, Ohio; but he awaited in vain, for an older 
brother, by shrewd management defeated him in 
his purpose, and while he w^as greatly disappointed 
at the time, he has ever since been thankful for his 
brother's interference. He continued teaching in 
Preble and Butler Counties, until the Spring of 
1 864, when he with his youngest sister emigrated 
to Iowa, and located near Iowa Falls in Hardin 
County, to which place some of the family had 
preceded him. Here he met Lydia Ann Wildman, 
the youngest daughter of Seneca and Jane Wildman, 
prominent people, and former neighbors of his 
father's family in Ohio. She w^as an accomplished 
girl, and now^ was teaching school before she was 
seventeen. Relations with the family were such 
that George often met this young lady, his brother 
having married her older sister. Their associations 
together, soon grew into mutual attachment, and on 
April 26th of the following year, they were united 
in marriage. To this union were born two chil- 
dren — Evie J. and Homer B. Hunt, who was an in- 
fant of three weeks when his mother died. He and 
his young wife had lived happily together on a 

2 



farm, given them by her father. During this time, 
he took up the work of surveying and soon be- 
came proficient in this Hne. In the spring of 1 868, 
he returned to Ohio and studied for a while under 
the Civil Engineer of Xenia. In the fall of that year, 
he began teaching again. 

On December 3 1 st he married Lina Taylor, 
daughter of Lewis and Martha Ann Taylor, a prom- 
inent woman minister in The Friend's Church. To 
this union. Six children were born — Irvin L., Sylva 
B., Myrta E., Lottie A., Alvan G., and CUfford E. 
Hunt. Early in 1870, George, with his new wife, 
returned to Iowa, where he engaged in farming to 
some extent, but mainly in teaching. During his 
stay in Iowa, he served one term as Assessor, where 
every tract of land, from two and a half acres to a 
Section or more, had to be accurately platted on 
the proper scale. He also served one term as 
County Surveyor. 

He now returned with his family to Ohio, where 
he teaches for about three years, and in August of 
'82, he moved to Denver, Colo., principally for his 
wife's health. He remained there for one year, and 
in August '83, moved to Sterling, Kansas, where 
several of his relatives lived. He taught one year 
in the Sterling High School, where he rounded out 
one-hundred and sixty-two months of teaching. 
Late in the fall, he with his family and other par- 
ties, made the famous overland journey, from 
Sterling, Kansas, to the Panhandle of Texas, an 
account of which is given in part first of this book, 
together with, "Early Days upon the Plains," this 

3 



history lor the next thirty-four years, gives the prin- 
cipal events of his life. In early manhood, he was 
of a poetical turn of mind, but most of his poems 
were written after he was sixty years of age. 

All articles in this book, not otherwise designat- 
ed are those of the Author. 

RESOLUTION 

Lubbock, Texas, March 19th, 1919. 

WHEREAS, In the providence of Almighty 
God, who is too wise to err, and too good to be 
unkind. He called from labor to rest, the spirit of 
Geo. M. Hunt, Christian and pioneer, who having 
fought the good fight; finished his course, and kept 
the faith, he sweetly fell asleep, on the morning of 
March the eighth, nineteen hundred nineteen, and 
his dying was as calm and peaceful as the birth of 
the morning which carried his ransomed spirit to 
the lands beyond the stars, and 

WHEREAS, His life, has been an open book of 
honesty and purity; his record, a clean and fault- 
less page; his career, a chapter that has sweetly 
ended, and 

WHEREAS, For many years he was the Teach- 
er of the Ladies Wesley Class of the First Methodist 
Church Sunday School, Lubbock, Texas, and as 
such teacher, he gave his best, and as a memorial 
of his fidelity and his faith, the class lives today, 
strong in numbers and faithful in service. In the 
beautiful Methodist Church, and in the parlor that 
was to be his class room, had health permitted, 
there is another monument to his precious memory 

4 



— a *'lVIemorial Window," and penciled in its pan- 
els of beautifully tinted glass, these words may be 
read: "To the memory of George M. Hunt, Teach- 
er Wesley Class." When this Church shall have 
fallen, and these panels shall have broken, and 
these letters shall have faded, the life of Geo. M. 
Hunt shall still be blessing humanity. 

We are among the hundreds who loved him, 
and we stand with the thousands who lament his 
death, and if we should seek to touch the core of 
his greatness, we would lay our hand upon his 
heart. We would speak of his humanity, his sym- 
pathies, his sweet philanthropy, and the nobleness 
that ran like a silver current through his life 

BE IT RESOLVED, That such a life as his is 
worthy of the profoundest respect of one and all, 
and that the Wesley Class has lost a friend — the 
family, a source of constant inspiration — the city, a 
real citizen, and the Church, a true soldier. While 
his tired body rests beneath the faded flowers, 
placed there by hands that loved him, his spirit re- 
vived, and his soul reanimated ten thousand fold, 
lives with those who never die. May his be a sweet 
and restful sleep. 

We desire that a copy of these, our feeble ex- 
pressions of grief, be given the family. 
Respectfully submitted, 
MRS. R. I. TUBBS, 
MRS. ADELAIDE SUMMERS, 
W. C RYLANDER. 



A TRIBUTE. 

The first time I ever saw "Uncle George," he 
had just stepped down from the seat of the prairie 
schooner that had brought him from Kansas to 
Texas. He was rubbing his hands together in the 
quaint and humorous way he had of prefacing one 
of his droll remarks, and his kindly brown eyes 
were twinkling with the joy of arrival after the long 
overland trip and with meeting friends and rela- 
tives of other days. 

There were several people in the party includ- 
ing boys and girls near my own age, but he drew 
my almost undivided attention, with the magic of 
his unexpected words and actions. From some- 
where back down the line of the Hunt ancestry, 
came a strain of old Ireland, and his Irish called to 
my Irish in a way that was not to be resisted. With- 
in ten minutes I was in love with him and that af- 
fection grew with the years. In his last days my 
brief visits to his home tow^n w^ere never complete 
until I had spent an hour with him, and drunk again 
from the never failing fount of his wit and unrivalled 
fellowship. 

His was a cultured mind. His was a gentle- 
man's heart. His natural gift was literary. The edi- 
torial sanctum and the school master's desk had de- 
veloped his gift, giving correct form and finish to 
his use of English, and wings to his imagination. 
The almost perfect rhyme and meter of all his 
poems, are but the polished sheath from which 
there flashes forth the originality of his thought, 

6 



like the bright Damascus blade it was. His deep 
appreciation of the little things that make life really 
wonderful, and his keen observations upon charac- 
ter and life, clothed in tender, half serious, half 
humorous expression, have the freshness and the 
charm of a personality, that always looked fear- 
lessly and hopefully out upon the world while bus- 
ily engaged in the humble tasks that fell to hand. 

He w^as an artist. Many a person sat at rest 
and ease in the house he had erected, without real- 
izing that it was the harmony of color and design 
that held them in thrall. If he planted a garden, it 
was not like any other garden. It w^as a poem. 
Thoughts bloomed amid the rows of vegetable life. 
Harmony sang in design, and a personality invested 
the rose, and the hollyhock. He once had a little 
store. It was a flour and bacon studio. The "can- 
ned goods" were informed with mysterious and se- 
ductive excellence, pickles were prophets and cab- 
bages kings. When I saw pigs feet advertised in 
the show window at 25 cents the yard, my boyish 
heart was filled with curiosity, and I went in to see 
that great sight — a yard of pigs* feet. I discovered 
again that three feet make a yard. 

His three great characteristics, were tolerance 
of others, tireless energy, and hopefulness. He 
was a Christian philosopher. He w^as a Christian. 

"O, though oft oppressed and lonely. 

All my fears are laid aside, 

If I but remember only 

Such as he have lived and died." 

J. W. HUNT. 
7 



PART ONE 

Consisting of a description of the Overland journey, 
made by Geo. M. Hunt and party, from Ster- 
ling, Kansas, to the Panhandle of Texas, 
in 1 884, and early days on the Plains. 

CHAPTER 1. 

On November 5th, 1884, we made our start 
for Texas. The "we" includes our party of four- 
teen. My own family, Henry Baldwin and fam- 
ily, Mr. Paul Seely, Miss Celia Corrigon, and an 
elderly gentleman, whose name I have forgotten. 
He had expressed a desire to visit Texas; and as he 
had a good wagon and team, I proposed to bear 
the expense of his trip, if he would go with us, and 
carry some of our goods. He accepted my propo- 
sition. Our outfit consisted of three two-horse 
wagons, and a one-horse buggy. 

As a sequel of an incident that occurred some 
five days later, I will say, that this man was a very 
radical dyed-in-the-w^ool republican; who seemed 
to harbor the idea, that democrats in general were 
bad citizens. Now^, it is not my purpose to give a 
detailed account of our journey; but rather to men- 
tion some of the most interesting, as well as the 
non-interesting events of our trip. Some may won- 
der why we started so late in the season, on such a 
long journey, and over an unknown country. The 
fact is, I wanted to defer our starting, until after I 
had voted, as I w^as interested in the election of a 
lady candidate for County Superintendent, and 

8 



further, I wanted to cast a vote for John P. St. John, 
prohibition candidate for president. 

Let it be remembered that November 4th, 1 884, 
was Presidential election day, when James G. 
Blaine, and Grover Cleveland were opposing can- 
didates. Up to the time we left Sterling, just aft- 
er noon, of the 5 th, inst., dispatches had reached 
us, indicating that Blaine was elected; and we 
learned nothing different until the 5 th night out, 
when we struck camp near Dodge City. 

While there a man came along from the city, 
and talking with him, we learned definitely that 
Cleveland was elected. This fact completely un- 
nerved our republican friend, and he determined 
to go no further. He said, he w^ould just as soon 
go to h — as to be in Texas with a democratic pres- 
ident. 

Persuasion was all in vain, and next morning, we 
transferred our organ and some other things, Irom 
his w^agon, to the remaining two, and he hit the 
trail for home. 

Our trip, so far had been a very pleasant one. 
We had good camping outfits, and w^e left home 
with provisions to last us several days; and for 
some time, we feasted on fried chicken, cake, pie, 
preserves and other good things. The road from 
Sterling to Dodge City, led us along the left bank 
of the Arkansas river. 

At Dodge City we turned south, crossed the 
river and took up what was called "The Jones and 
Plummer Trail." For some time w^e traveled thru 
a beautiful prairie country, with now and then a 

9 



small grove on a winding stream, to break the mo- 
notony of the scenery. 

But suddenly a broken and desolate looking 
land opened upon our view. Our road now^ takes 
us along a ridge, with deep ravines on either side, 
leading to the Cimarron river. 

We stopped at a little store, a short distance 
from the stream, to purchase some provisions, and 
the store keeper told Mr. Seely, that it w^as very 
dangerous crossing the river, on account of the 
quick-sand. He stated, that a short time before, a 
man drove into the w^ater and stopped to let his 
horses drink. The wagon and team began slow^ly 
to settle in the sand, and when he attempted to 
start his horses, he found they could not pull thru, 
and soon the whole outfit passed out of sight, be- 
neath the treacherous quick-sand of the river. 

Of course we felt a little shaky as we approach- 
ed the stream. 

CHAPTER 2. 

Quick-Sand of the Cimarron. 

The man at the store had told us not to stop in 
the river, but to drive through quickly. We felt that 
the crisis was near at hand, and we drove down to 
the crossing, with much apprehension. Paul Seely 
was in the lead, and when he drove into the water, 
his horses being very thirsty, insisted on stopping 
for a drink; and, in spite of Paul's yells and the 
crack of his blacksnake, they hesitated to move on 
with a speed, that acorded w^ith the driver's idea of 

10 



safety. He believed that we were about to go down, 
and exclaimed, "My God we're gone." And while 
I, myself, felt a peculiar sensation along my spinal 
column, from the cerebellum to the lower extrem- 
ity of the lumbar vertebrae, I could not help feeling 
a little amused at his expression. 

But good luck smiled upon us, and we all pulled 
thru in safety to the south bank of the river, when 
rejoicing took the place of fear and trembling. We 
all felt glad that the Cimarron w^as now^ behind us, 
and without regret w^e could say to it, good-bye- 

Our anxiety being temporarily removed, we 
journeyed on over a treeless country, that never 
changed in appearance. As far as the eye could 
reach, w^e saw nothing but hills and hollows. Some 
of us and especially the children, when tired of rid- 
ing, would leave the wagons, and hike it for several 
miles, as a means of recreation. But we are now 
approaching the Canadian river, where we have our 
next experience. There must have been a heavy 
rain somew^here above, for w^e found the river bed, 
from bank to bank, was covered with w^ater to an 
average depth of about one foot. The stream w^as 
w^ide, and the w^ater was running sw^iftly, but it w^as 
not deep, except in holes that had been made by 
the shifting sand; and what w^ould be a good cross- 
ing today, might not answer for tomorrow. Fortu- 
nately for us, w^e arrived just behind a long trail of 
w^agons, draw^n by about twenty oxen. Here w^e 
were detained at least one hour, w^aiting for the 
drivers to find a good crossing, and pass over. Be- 
fore starting the ox teams into the w^ater, a man 

11 



would mount a horse and ride across the river two 
or three times, to find a way where no holes would 
be encountered in crossing. Having located a route, 
they passed slowly over to the other side and mov- 
ed on. All of our party except myself, took to the 
wagons, and I followed with the buggy. I must 
have missed my course slightly, for in one place the 
buggy dropped into a hole and was almost sub- 
merged; and it looked like I w^as about to become a 
Baptist. But my faithful horse pulled me out of 
this predicament and landed me safely on the cov- 
eted shore, where the rest of our party w^ere wait- 
ing for me. 

We looked back upon the drifting waves that 
rolled over the everchanging sand bars, and from 
our hearts w^e said "farew^ell old Canadian, you 
have no terrors for us now." With a sigh of relief 
we moved on, but remembered with some appre- 
hension that Red River w^as yet to be crossed. 
However, "when we reached it, we found that this 
stream, sometimes a roaring torrent, w^as no"w as 
dry as the sand hills of Western Texas. And w^e 
crossed it w^ithout any trouble whatever. Soon 
after this, one Saturday evening just before night- 
fall, we drove into the outskirts of a large body of 
timber, w^ith a beautiful running stream nearby. 

We thought this would be an ideal stopping 
place. We had made it a rule not to travel on the 
first day of the week, provided we found a good 
camping place on Saturday night, where there w^as 
plenty of w^ater and grass for our horses. This was 
such a spot, and we decided to remain here till 

12 



Monday. It was a lovely evening, with nothing but 
a few fleecy clouds floating across the western sky, 
to mar the beauty of a golden sunset. 

We remembered the w^ords spoken nearly tw^o- 
thousand years ago, that the Sabbath w^as made for 
man, and not man for the Sabbath, so early on 
Sunday morning, some of our party took their guns 
and went into the w^oods for a wild turkey. They 
soon returned with one, and our women folks im- 
mediately started to jerking off the feathers, and 
the big fowl was soon cleaned, cut into pieces, and 
cooking in a large iron vessel on our sheet metal 
cook stove, w^ith a rousing fire in it. By dinner time 
it w^as thoroughly cooked, and it is needless to say, 
that we greatly enjoyed our turkey feast, and that 
this Sabbath w^as a glad day for us. The following 
Saturday night, our camping place was not a de- 
sirable one, and Sunday morning we pushed on our 
w^ay. Just before noon, we drove dow^n a hill, and 
into a pleasant valley, with a clear running stream 
of water, about one-hundred yards from the road. 
Here v^e decided to spend the remainder of the 
day. We hoppled out the w^agon teams, but staked 
our young buggy horse, that we had named Jimmie. 
When dinner was over w^e all went down to the 
creek and rambled along its banks, enjoying the 
pleasant sunshine. Suddenly a crowd of cowboys 
on horseback, came rushing dow^n the hill, south of 
us, and passed our camp in a **dead*' run. This 
created a flurry among our horses, and caused Jim- 
mie to run on his rope and break loose. He start- 

13 



ed in hot pursuit after the riders, and with eager 
anxiety, we watched our fleeing runaway, until he 
had disappeared over the hill. 

CHAPTER 3. 

Our buggy pony was a regular pet, with an 
abundance of horse sense. If one should step in 
front of him and say "howdy", he w^ould lift his leg 
for a shake. We had not yet learned of the many 
good qualities of the cow^boys and w^e thought in 
all probability our pet was gone for "keeps". But 
I could not give him up, without an effort to get 
him, so I slapped a blind bridle on one of our w^ag- 
on horses, and without a saddle, mounted him, and 
sailed up the road, looking like an awkward back- 
woodsman, with my arms flopping up and down 
like a churn dasher. Just as I reached the brow^ of 
the hill, I saw a man leading a horse, and coming 
toward me. And when I met him I learned with 
great satisfaction that he w^as bringing Jimmie back. 

1 cordially thanked him, and expressed my deep 
appreciation of his kindness. And now my estima- 
tion of the cowboy w^as raised 1 00 per cent. I re- 
turned to camp, and w^e continued our pleasant 
strolls by the crystal waters of the delightful stream 
that meandered its way thru the beautiful valley. 
Monday morning found us again moving on our 
way. After leaving Dodge City, the first town we 
reached, on our long journey was Mobeetie. 

We purchased some provisions here, drove on 
a short distance and struck camp, between the 

14 



town and Fort Elliott. We were constantly disturtD- 
ed until after midnight, by parties passing between 
the two places. Our women folks were pretty bad- 
ly scared, but the men were not at all afraid, yet 
wished our camping ground was in a less dangerous 
place. The next morning w^e visited the Fort, and 
found everything very nice in appearance. Clar- 
endon w^as the next town we reached which was 
about the size of Lubbock twenty years ago. 

Here we met several kindly disposed people, 
and were granted the privilege of camping in an 
old church house. 

Some of them invited us to spend the night at 
their homes. The next day we left the little town 
with pleasant memories remaining with us. In the 
early part of the morning, on the third day after 
leaving Clarendon, we drove up to the headquar- 
ters of the Quitaque ranch. Some of the older 
children were w^alking when we reached this place, 
and the first thing that attracted their attention, was 
a big bear; and they thought he was about to take 
them in, as they had not yet learned that he was a 
pet, and Sylva soon reached the top of a cow shed, 
and Irvin went up a tree. 

Just at this time, two men came out of the 
house, greeted us cordially, and seemed very glad 
to see us. They insisted on us stopping w^ith them 
the rest of the day, and that night. 

As our horses were somewhat tired as well as 
ourselves, it was not hard for us to accept the kind 
invitation. They treated us as real guests, and we 
felt very much at home. They urged us to eat with 

15 



tKem, so we had three square meals, without start- 
ing a camp fire. The ranch house was located near 
the mouth of Tule Canyon. There was a large body 
of timber near by^ and the men told us, that occa- 
sionally a bear was yet to be found in this timber. 
Immediately after dinner some of us armed our- 
selves as best we could with guns, and started out 
for a bear hunt. 

We w^ent in different directions thru the woods. 
I w^alked several miles, and the only bear I shot was 
a jack-rabbit. The rest of the bear hunters, it 
seems, met w^ith about the same sucecss. The next 
morning, when we were ready to start, the men 
gave us some horse feed, and provisions for our- 
selves. They went with us across the creek, and up 
a long hill that led to the top of the Plains. Our 
party traveled on together, until noon the second 
day, after leaving Quitaque. We had been told that 
when we arrived at Blanco Canyon, we must go 
about tw^o miles to reach Hank Smith's home. 
Thinking we w^ere only a few miles from the place, 
I, with our three smallest children, and their moth- 
er, started on in our buggy soon after dinner, ex- 
pecting to reach Mr. Smith's residence before night. 
But the distance was greater than we reckoned, be- 
sides we missed our w^ay, and found out later that 
we had taken the wrong road. When we reached 
the bluffs, daylight was almost gone; but we drove 
on about a mile, down a winding ravine that led to 
the main canyon, when we came to a clump of 
trees, where the road suddenly seemed to disap- 
pear. By this time it was quite dark, as the moon 

16 



had not yet risen. For some time, we wanaered in 
the darkness, searching for a way to lead us out; 
but all in vain. It was indeed a lonely place, and 
our prospects were shrouded in gloom. We had 
taken no provisions with us, no water, nor even a 
drinking cup, and but few wraps. We had no 
matches with which to start a fire to keep us warm. 
The night was growing cold, and we realized that 
we were lost in a strange land, and knew not what 
lay before us. 

CHAPTER 4. 

During our long journey across rolling prairies, 
thru pleasant valleys, and over broken and hilly 
country, our party had spent many happy evenings 
around a cheerful camp fire, and then lay down to 
rest beneath the silent stars, and passed undisturbed 
into the land of dreams. But not so at this time. 
The somber shadows of a dreary scene, played 
about us, making us feel our loneliness more vivid- 
ly in this place of solitude. It was a dark night, and 
it became evident that we must remain here, and 
make the best of our situation. 

I unhitched, and unharnessed my horse, put a 
long rope on him, and while looking for a place to 
stake him, I discovered an old dug-out, or rather a 
dug-in, as the room had been made in the side of a 
bluff. It had an opening in front, about six by six 
feet. Over this door-way was a big buffalo head, 
which made the place appear more hideous. We 
knew we would suffer with cold, if we should stay 

17 



dutside; so we decided to go into tKis grim looking 
den, and take our chances of being punished for 
trespass. There was a large fire-place in the rear, 
and a big dry cottonwood log, about ten inches in 
diameter, had been placed therein. We saw signs 
of fire underneath it, and I turned it partially over, 
raked off some live coals, and it began to blaze. It 
continued to burn w^hile we remained there, and 
kept us comfortably warm, besides furnishing some 
light. 

We made a pallet for the little ones, while Mrs. 
Hunt and myself rested as best we could, by lean- 
ing against the wall of the old dug-out. About 
eleven o'clock, one of the little girls began crying 
with the toothache, and the other hollowing for a 
drink of water. I now faced a problem that was 
hard to solve; for, if I should be able to find water, 
we knew there was no vessel in which to carry it. 
We had a felt hat with us, and 1 turned up its brim 
in a way to hold water. The moon was now up, and 
shining brightly in the cloudless sky. The dreaded 
moment was at hand, for 1 felt almost sure a wild- 
cat or panther, was perched upon some pinnacle, 
ready to take me in when 1 started out. I took the 
hat and walked up a small ravine about one hundred 
yards, when I came to a hole of water. I looked 
back, and saw some kind of an animal, slyly ap- 
proaching me. 1 had no real weapon of defense, 
but I knew it would not do for me to run, so I rush- 
ed at it with a vengeance, flopping the old hat, 
which seemed to frighten the intruder. It ran 
quickly away and disappeared. I hastily dipped up 

18 



some water, and went back to camp on double- 
quick. The water satisfied the thirsty child, and 
the toothache of the other was beginning to abate, 
and soon all was quiet. 

We decided that we would move out early in 
the morning, go back over the road we had come, 
and meet the rest of our party. We remained here 
till nearly five o'clock, and then prepared to depart. 
We remembered passing a camp the evening before, 
where some men were baling hay, only a few miles 
from the canyon. When we reached a point oppo- 
site this place, which was about a quarter of a mile 
from the road, daylight was beginning to show. 
The folks were cold, and I left them in the buggy, 
while I walked down to the camp, to see if I could 
make arrangements for us to warm ourselves. The 
men were asleep among the bales of hay, that had 
been so arranged as to make a protection for them. 
I felt somewhat backward about calling them, I 
didn't know how they might receive my intrusion; 
but I ventured to say "halloo, boys", and they im- 
mediately awoke. I told them of our circumstances, 
and asked if we could have a chance to warm, they 
said, "sure". Very soon they were dressed, and 
had a fire going. I went back to the buggy and 
drove to the camp. We were shortly seated by a 
good fire. The men had commenced to prepare 
breakfast, and after a thorough warming, we sug- 
gested that we would drive on and join our party, 
but the cook said, "no you must stay and take 
breakfast with us," and we did so, for we were very 
hungry, having eaten nothing since noon the day 

19 



before. And if there ever was a meal that we en- 
joyed more than any other, this was the one. We 
had beef, fried in fresh tallow, good coffee with 
sugar for it, big fat biscuit, and fried onions. We 
were now learning to know and appreciate the hos- 
pitality of the pioneer. When breakfast was over, 
we told our hosts that we greatly enjoyed our meal 
with them, cordially thanked them for their kind- 
ness, and drove to where the balance of our party 
was camped, and found that they had not yet start- 
ed out. We stopped long enough to w^ater and feed 
our horse, and a little before ten o'clock w^e were 
all moving on together. As we left the camp so 
late, we didn't stop for dinner. Just after sunset, 
w^e passed a lake where there was water. It would 
have been a good place for us to camp, but as we 
expected to reach the Hank Smith place in a short 
time, we didn't stop here. We soon came to the 
canyon, but found no road to lead us off the plains, 
and w^e w^ere again disappointed as to the distance. 
A dim wagon trail ran along the bluffs, which we 
followed for a few miles, when we came to a place, 
where the road seemed abruptly to end; and as far 
as we could tell, it neither went on, nor down into 
the canyon. It was now very dark, for it w^as 
cloudy, and we did not have the benefit of star 
light. Our party was tired, cold, and hungry. Miss 
Corrigon was sick, and scarcely able to travel. Our 
folks all remained in the wagons and buggy, but 
Paul Seely and myself. We each took a lantern 
and searched for a road that w^ould lead us out of 
this difficulty, but our efforts were futile. A cold 

20 



gloomy night lay before us, and Paul remarked, 
that we might just as well give up, and, survive or 
perish, remain where we were. Just as he uttered 
these words, we heard some dogs barking away in 
the distance across the canyon, and felt sure that 
they were at the home of someone living on the 
other side, and that there was a haven for us, not 
far away, if we only could reach it. 

CHAPTER 5. 

I had looked upon Mr. Seely as something of a 
pessimist, for he was easily discouraged under ad- 
verse conditions. I told him that if we could not 
find a way to get down from the bluffs, we would go 
back to the lake we had passed a short time before, 
and camp there, where there was water and grass 
for our horses. We decided to make a further in- 
vestigation. Our lead wagon had stopped on a 
smooth rocky surface, where no trace of a road 
could be seen by lantern light, and we walked on 
down the hill for a short distance, and when we had 
passed over the rocky way, we found a wagon 
trail leading into the valley. We concluded that 
this w^as our getting down place, so Paul went back 
to his wagon and took the lead, while I walked in 
front with a lantern, to w^atch for any bad or dan- 
gerous places in the road. We moved slowly on 
our way, along a winding road, and finally reached 
a stream near the w^est side of the canyon. There 
was considerable water at the crossing, and it look- 
ed as though it might be boggy, but there were in- 

21 



dications that others had crossed, and as we had 
met with so many thrilling experiences, this seemed 
to us rather a small affair. Here I got into the bug- 
gy and drove over, all right. The first wagon came 
through with a hard pull, but the second one failed 
to make the landing. The front wheels reached the 
hard ground, but the hind ones stuck fast in the mud 
and water, which was nearly hub deep. The horses 
seemed neither inclined nor able to make the nec- 
essary effort to bring the wagon out, so we took 
them loose, and thought w^e would let the wheels 
soak over night, and wait for a more convenient 
season to bring them to dry land. The moon w^as 
just beginning to peep over the bluffs, and give us 
light. 

At this place the road turned to the left, and 
led to Mr. Smith's home, about a quarter of a mile 
away. The dim outlines of his big stone house ap- 
peared thru the moonlight. We followed this road 
and soon reached his premises. His folks were not 
in the least surprised, as they had been expecting us 
to arrive at any time. 1 had sent a postal card to 
Dr. Hunt from different points along our route, and 
kept him informed as to the progress we were mak- 
ing on our journey, and thru him this information 
reached Hank Smith. They seemed glad to meet 
us, and w^e appreciated their kind treatment. Mrs. 
Smith proceeded at once to perpare supper for us, 
and w^e greatly enjoyed it, for the last meal that 
we had eaten, w^as our notable breakfast with the 
hay-balers, rather early that morning. As a matter 
of course, we spent some time after supper, in tell- 

^2 



ing the Smith family some of our experiences on our 
trip. After which our kind hostess brought a 
feather bed from the second story, and placed it in 
front of a big fire-place, where I, with our baby 
boy, A. G., and his mother, slept comfortably the 
remainder of the night. We could not help but 
think and talk about the great contrast between this 
night, and the previous one, that we spent in the 
old dug-out. 

The next morning after breakfast, Dec. 6th., 
we men folks took four horses, and w^ent back to 
the creek, hitched them to the wagon that we had 
left standing the night before w^ith the rear wheels 
in the mud and water. We brought it to dry land, 
and pulled on to the house. 

Miss Celia Corrigon w^as still sick, and she re- 
mained here for a few days. Henry Baldwin and 
family also stopped for awhile to allow^ their team 
to rest, as it w^as about tired out. 

Paul Seely, Irvin and Sylva, in the other wagon, 
and the rest of our little family with the buggy, 
started on our way for Estacado, about ten o'clock. 
We took the lead, and as w^e traveled faster than 
they, it was not long till we were some distance 
ahead of them. A little before sundown we passed 
a sheep camp, that w^e afterwards learned w^as that 
of Smith and Bassett. We reached Estacado just 
after dark, and drove to Dr. Hunt's (J. W.'s father). 
We suddenly stopped in front of his house, as a bug- 
gy wheel locked around a fence post. It is needless 
to say, that here w^as a joyful meeting. I don't 
mean with the fence post but with our relatives. It 

23 



was many long years, since I had seen cousin Will, 
as I called him in other days, before he became a 
doctor. We were soon seated around an inviting 
supper table, where we found plenty of good things 
to satisfy our hunger. 

After visiting and talking for nearly two hours, 
we became somewhat anxious about our other chil- 
dren, who had not yet arrived. So Roll Hunt, and 
Ezra Henshaw, who happened to be there, started 
to look for them. They had gone but a short dis- 
tance, when they met them coming on horseback. 
When they reached us, we soon learned the cause 
of their delay. Several miles back, one of the 
horses had fagged out completely, and they were 
compelled to stop, and after unharnessing the horse 
they put a blanket on him, and turned him loose 
to grass. Irvin and Sylva mounted the other and 
moved on, while Paul hiked it along the road with 
them. When they reached the sheep camp, they 
stopped and remained for supper. Here Mr. Seely 
borrowed a horse, and they came on to Estacado. 
The next morning some of us went back for the 
horse and wagon. We found everything all right, 
and the horse able to travel. 

On our return we stopped at the camp, where 
we found a big turkey dinner ready for us. Luther 
Hickerson, Lewis Bassett and N. K. Smith were 
there, and I have an indistinct recollection of meet- 
ing a party by the name of Harry Rann. At any 
rate we had a good time, and were beginning to en- 
joy the romance of a pioneer life. 



24 



CHAPTER 6. 

After spending thirty-one days on the road, we 
reached the end of our journey, December 6th, 
1 884. While our long trip most of the way was a 
pleasant one, we had some experiences, the like of 
which, I have no desire to meet again. We found 
in this community, a well educated, and highly in- 
telligent people. Somehow I imagined that I might 
possibly be about the smartest one in the whole 
bunch, but I soon found that I was very much mis- 
taken in my ideas; and more thoroughly than ever 
before, was I convinced that the Darwin and Hux- 
ley theory was absurd and false; for it was plain to 
me that the human family, thru evolution, never 
could have evolved from a bull-frog or a monkey, 
to man's high estate. This community numbered 
between eighty and one hundred people, and with- 
in eighteen months, had increased to about one- 
hundred and twenty-five. The settlement was gen- 
erally known as "The Quaker Colony**. We soon 
became acquainted with the folks, and participants 
in their pleasant gatherings. Our first Christmas 
in Texas, was near at hand. The people of the 
Friend's church had erected a neat frame building, 
and in this house we met for our exercises. It was 
a warm and beautiful day. After an interesting 
program was carried out, many of the men sat 
around in their shirt sleeves, outside of the house, 
and ate watermelons in the pleasant sunshine. 
What's that you say? Ate watermelons at Christ- 
mas time? Yes, we certainly did. Isish Cox, who 

25 



lived about three miles west of Estacado, had put 
away a lot of large melons in his cellar, where they 
remained in good condition, and he brought sev- 
eral of them to the church house, for this occasion, 
and we enjoyed a rare treat. 

I had lived several years on the prairies of low^a 
and Kansas, and had rather an adequate conception 
as to the appearance of this country. The main 
difference being the vastness of territory w^ith no set- 
tlements. Outside of our colony, there w^as not a 
farm house, no church or school building, not even 
a fence on all these broad plains. There w^as only 
one well and that was at Estacado. It w^as dug by 
Paris Cox, and w^alled with stone, hauled from 
Blanco Canyon, a distance of twenty-three miles. 
It w^as know^n as the Public Well. There w^as no 
Canyon City, nor Amarillo, and Colorado City was 
our nearest town, one-hundred and twenty-five 
miles south of us. There were many deer, thous- 
ands of antelope and w^ild horses. Some wild hogs 
were still found among the sand hills, and we had 
the opportunity of eating a few^ of their hams and 
shoulders. In the canyons, there were here and 
there a cow or sheep ranch; but no cattle ever ven- 
tured as far from their range as Estacado, and the 
farmers raised their crops w^ithout any fences around 
their premises. The principal product w^as rice corn. 
The heads grew on a short stock, and turned down 
like dw^arf maize. The grain w^as fine, and found 
ready sale among cattle men, at $1.25 per bushel. 
It had a great purchasing power, and w^as some- 
times called legal tender. The people of our little 

26 



town had rather an unique way of furnishing grass 
for their milch cows. They would use a heavy 
smooth wire, some forty rods in length, draw it 
tight between two stakes, and with a short rope, 
fasten a cow to it, by a snap that would move eas- 
ily along the wire, and thus she had plenty of good 
grazing. 

Our trading points were so far away, that the 
whole neighborhood would sometimes run short on 
flour and other provisions; but A. W. Lewis had 
planned for emiergencies, by attaching a grinder to 
his windmill and made meal from rice corn, which 
made palatable flapjacks, and the way we often 
had to live, w^as much worse than the Hoover days 
at the present time. We fared much better in '85, 
as this was a very wet year, and we raised plenty 
of everything we needed. This plains country was 
a free, open range, but it was not long till some of 
our big cattlemen began fencing large tracts of land. 
This move was opposed by Texas authorities, as the 
State was receiving no revenue from its lands, and 
grass commissioners were appointed to investigate, 
and have surveys made of any such enclosed lands. 
G. M. Swink, of Dallas, who had just located at 
Estacado, was appointed for this part of the Panhan- 
dle. At once he secured a few helpers, and em- 
ployed me to go with him, and make a survey of the 
Circle Ranch in Hale County, which was owned or 
controlled by C. C. Slaughter at this time. After 
working a couple of days, it began to rain, and we 
went to headquarters for protection. We found no 
one there, but Captain Swink being well acquainted 

27 



with Mr. Slaughter, said he would guarantee that it 
would be alright for us to take possession of the 
place. We helped ourselves to the provisions 
there, and found plenty of grain for our horses. 
One night w^e camped near the stream of Running 
Water, and hoppled out our team for the night. 
Next morning the horses w^ere nowhere in sight, and 
while some of our party w^ent in search for them, 
Roll Hunt and I remained at camp to prepare 
breakfast. We captured a big, fat prairie dog, 
w^hich we cleaned and fried. We also had our ba- 
con. Here is where the joke comes in. When the 
horse hunters returned, we told them that v/e had a 
nice fat dog for breakfast, and they felt so sure that 
we were telling a yarn, that one of them remarked, 
alright boys we like dog meat, and they ate it with 
a relish, firmly believing that it was rabbit; and we 
could not convince them otherwise, till we showed 
them the dog's head, hide and tail. 

After four or five days w^ork w^e returned to Es- 
tacado, where Mr. Swink made his report. 

Crosby County w^as not yet organized, and was 
attached to Baylor for judicial and surveying pur- 
poses. All of our records were at Seymour, and 
w^e were placed under very inconvenient conditions. 
We had no Justice of the Peace, nor Notary Pub- 
lic, and thru the request of Paris Cox, I was ap- 
pointed by the Commissioners of Baylor County, as 
Justice of the Peace, which constituted me an Ex- 
Officio Notary Public. Soon after my appointment, 
I experienced one of the most trying hours of my 
life. About dark one night, there was a knock at 

28 



the door. I opened it and there stood a man and 
woman. I invited them in, and to be seated. They 
told me they had their Hcense, and wanted me to 
marry them. This took me completely by surprise, 
as I had never given the deal the least thought. 
They seemed to be in a hurry, and anxious for the 
performance to begin, but I didn't know how to pro- 
ceed. I was for sale, and it would have been a re- 
lief to me, if I could have been put up at auction 
and knocked off to the lowest bidder, or I would 
have sold out cheap on the installment plan; but 
something had to be done, and it popped into my 
mind, that I would close the job in these words: 
"Now folks according to the authority vested in 
me as Ex-Officio Notary Public, I pronounce you, 

man and woman. So help me .** But this 

didn't sound right, and I thought of no way either 
to begin or to end my ceremony. The fact w^as 
that I was up a tree, I was really in a dilemma, for 
I knew no more about tying a matrimonial knot, 
than a four year old knows about circulating deci- 
mals. 

CHAPTER 7. 

While facing the embarrassing position of hav- 
ing to perform a marriage rite, it suddenly occur- 
red to me that I could apply the ceremony used in 
the Friend's Church. I still remembered it, and 
thought I could handle the same by giving it a few 
twists. Thinking that the ceremony may be inter- 
esting, as well as a curiosity for the reader, I will 

29 



insert it here; but before I do so, I wish to offer a 
few words, as an exordium to the Quaker way. 

Under their regulations, there is no chance for 
a couple to jump into the ring and marry w^ithout 
warning to their friends and relatives. At a reg- 
ular meeting of the Church, the contracting parties 
are required to make known their intentions, one 
month before the performance comes off; and when 
the time arrives for the nuptials at a monthly meet- 
ing, there is often a large crowd assembled to wit- 
ness the exhibition. The man walks in with the 
bride-to-be, swinging to his arm. They take their 
seats, facing the audience. After a short religious 
service, either in silence, or by a sermon, the preach- 
er says, perhaps it is now time for the couple to pro- 
ceed, and at once they arise, clasp hands, and each 
one says a little piece; and here is the ceremony 
that I have promised. The man speaks first, in the 
following words: "Friends, in the presence of the 

Lord, and before this assembly, I take to be 

my lawfully wedded wife, promising, with Divine 
assistance, to be unto her a faithful and loving hus- 
band until death shall separate us." The bride 
then repeats practically the same ceremony, using 
the word husband instead of wife. They sit down 
again, and their suspense is now^ over. They sign 
their names in the marriage records, the bride adopt- 
ing the name of her husband. This is follow^ed w^ith 
the signature of the meeting's clerk, and by as many 
more as desire to sign as such w^itnesses. Now I 
completed my job, by repeating the Quaker cere- 
money to each one in the form of a question, and all 

30 



they had to do, was merely to say "Yep.** I con- 
gratulated them, wishing that they might enjoy 
much happiness in their new^ relation, and in turn 
they complimented me for my short method. 

I have neglected so far, to state that w^e had 
erected a small building as a boarding place, and 
named it "The Llano House." We kept a number 
of regular boarders, and often some of our cowboys 
would stop with us for a few days recreation. Our 
family was still imbued with the ways of our fore- 
fathers, and we said "Thee and Thy" to one an- 
other. Some of the boarders were greatly amused 
at our way of speaking, and often said many comic 
things in trying to talk the Quaker language. Al- 
most universally, the boys were polite and courteous 
in our home, but one night some of them, who had 
imbibed bug juice, too freely, were in the room 
above, and just as we started out to attend a liter- 
ary entertainment, one of them fired a shot from 
his revolver. The bullet passed thru the floor and 
ceiling, lodging in the woodbox below, where, about 
one minute before, one of our party had been seat- 
ed. Thus we find that there are some disagreeable 
things, mixed with the many pleasures of pioneer 
life. 

At this time I was running a little grocery store 
at Estacado, and we were now bringing our sup- 
plies mainly from Amarillo, which had recently 
sprung up. It was no nearer for us, but the roads 
were better. On our trips north, we would often 
see large droves of w^ild horses. A few of these 
rangers of the plains, were captured by the Esta- 

31 



cado people. TKey soon tecame docile, and made 
good work animals. 

When Crosby was organized, the county seat 
was located at Estacado. A two-story court house, 
and a stone jail were built. Several nice residences 
w^ere erected, and the little town put on a beautiful 
appearance in this grand Oasis of the great Ameri- 
can desert, as it was once called. While I would 
prefer to think, and write about the pleasant oc- 
currences during the early days of our settlement 
on the plains, yet I feel that it might be more ap- 
propriate, as w^ell as more interesting, to allude to 
some things out of the ordinary, as our social gath- 
erings we enjoy all along the way. 

I was still Justice of the Peace, and here I will 
briefly describe the trial of a case before me, that 
had its tragical ending. 1 shall refrain from giving 
the names of a few of those connected with this 
trial, as some of them are still living, and well- 
known by old timers as prominent men. 

One morning, I rigged up four horses, with a 
lead and trail wagon, and ready to to start for Ama- 
rillo, after provisions for my store. 1 drove up to 
the public well to fill my water kegs, and before I 
got away, two prisoners were brought in, by the 
names of John Harvey and George Spencer. Be- 
ing notified of the matter, I at once turned the 
teams out, changed my duds, and repaired to the 
court house. A lawyer was secured for the prose- 
cution, and one for the defense; and after the us- 
ual preliminaries were arranged, the trial proceed- 
ed. It developed that the boys had robbed the 

32 



post-office at Dockum, on Duck Creek in Dickens 
County. The postmaster, who was present as a w^it- 
ness, told some amusing things about his experience 
w^ith the robbers. He w^as alone in the office, he 
said when they came in, covered him with their pis- 
tols, and told him to throw up his hands, w^hich he 
did without any hesitation. They then blindfolded 
him, he stated, and ordered him to remain perfect- 
ly quiet, which he did w^ithout protest. The robbers 
then went to the cash drawer, secured all the cash 
it contained, took a lot of postage stamps, and some 
provisions from the store that was run in connec- 
tion with the office. With the booty, they hastily 
departed, and somew^here on their rounds, they 
stole a couple of horses to facilitate their escape, but 
they w^ere soon located in a deep draw^ of the Yel- 
low^house Canyon. It seems that Sam Gholson, 
who lived on Spring Creek, was leader of the posse, 
that captured the robbers, for George Spencer stat- 
ed at the trial that when he looked dow^n the barrel 
of Gholson's long range gun, he w^as fully ready to 
surrender. Here I will state that as a matter of 
precaution, the prisoners had been handcuffed, and 
their feet shackled. After the evidence w^as all in, 
the lawyers were presenting their final aruguments, 
and from some cause they became angered at each 
other, hot words followed and they soon came to 
blows, using chairs as weapons with which to fight. 
John Harvey, who was sitting near them, scented 
danger, and managed to hobble to the opening in 
the railing. The deputy sheriff was below, and 
hearing the racket, he rushed upstairs with his win- 

33 



cKester, and at the doorway, fired a shot at Harvey 
across the court room. 

I was standing just behind him and in direct 
range of the shot, but the prisoner w^as my protec- 
tion. The bullet entered Harvey's left side and 
lodged under the skin below the right shoulder 
blade. The victim fell to the floor and turned 
deathly pale. There was much excitement among 
the spectators present and for awhile pandemonium 
reigned supreme. 

CHAPTER 8 

It was thought for awhile that Harvey's wound 
w^ould prove fatal, but he soon revived. Doctor 
Marshburn was called, and extracted the bullet. 
The prisoner was taken to the jail, where he was 
nursed for several weeks, while he was recuperat- 
ing. TTie man who did the shooting, plead guilty, 
and waived his right to a preliminary hearing. He 
was released to await the action of the grand jury. 

In 1890, the few people in Lubbock county be- 
gan talking about its organization, and soon a town 
fight developed. W. E. Rayner laid out a town 
northwest of the present town-site of Lubbock, and 
F. E. Wheelock started one across the canyon on 
the north. Having sold our boarding house at Es- 
tacado, we moved to Lubbock County, in Septem- 
ber, and located in the north town. I continued 
my grocery business on a small scale, in a large 
tent. Frank Wheelock put up a hotel and we took 
charge of it. He and Mr. Rayner offered strong in- 

34 



ducements to everyone, that would settle in their 
respective towns, giving lots to them for building 
places. Before January 1st, quite a number had 
located with us. We had the first Christmas tree 
ever offered in Lubbock County, and I acted as 
Santa Claus. 

Each town continued to grow, but before spring 
time of '91 the promoters began to realize the fol- 
ly of keeping up their expensive contest, and pro- 
ceeded to effect a compromise. The agreement 
may be summarized in the following propositions: 
First, we will bury the hatchet, consolidate our 
towns, and work together for a greater Lubbock. 
Second, we will select a new townsite. Third, we 
will remove at our own expense, all buildings in our 
towns to the place selected for the new one. 
Fourth, we will give to each settler, as many lots in 
the new town, as he ow^ns in the others. Accord- 
ingly the section, upon which Lubbock is now lo- 
cated, was chosen as the place for building the 
great city of the Panhandle. And now, all differ- 
ences having been amicably settled, the county was 
organized, and the county seat was located where 
Lubbock is now situated. The land was surveyed, 
and the town laid out, when the house moving be- 
gan. Many houses soon dotted the new town. The 
largest building to be moved was Mr. Wheelock's 
hotel. It was torn down, brought from the north side 
of the canyon, and rebuilt on the lots where it still 
stands. It was called "The Nicolett Hotel." 

The question is often asked, why are the lots in 
Lubbock so small? The answer may readily be 

35 



found in the reasoning of Messrs. Rayner and 
Wheel ock. They kept their eyes on the fact that 
they must give to each one as many lots in the new 
town, as he owned in the others. They claimed that 
these smaller lots w^ould amply compensate him, 
because of their greater value by the consolidation. 

It was not long 'till several houses were moved 
out of town, and on to the farms near Lubbock. 
But few^ w^ere being built, and our burg became just 
a little hamlet, and so remained for about fifteen 
years. Resident lots were valued all the way from 
nothing to $1.50, and fifty dollars per lot on the 
square was considered a big price. 

From a numerical standpoint, our Lubbock 
bunch for several years, w^as rather small, but it 
w^as large of its size, and w^as no bar to us having 
a good time. For awhile he held our union Sun- 
day School and church services in the court house. 
We had many basket picnics, often going dow^n to 
the canyon, to spend a night or tw^o, w^here we 
would catch and eat fish, together with many other 
good things that had been prepared for the occa- 
sion; and everyone, young and old, greatly enjoy- 
ed the outing. 

Among other interesting things, w^e had a Lit- 
erary Society that met weekly. One w^inter the 
members were divided into two classes, and know^n 
as the "Hustlers and Rustlers." They met alter- 
nately, and vied with each other for superiority in 
rendering their programs, and often hit each other 
some heavy jolts. 

It was not long after we had settled down in our 

36 



quiet little village, *tili a saloon bobbed up, to dis- 
turb its peace and dignity. The atmosphere didn't 
agree with it, and soon it died from lack of patron- 
age. We wanted to remain on the safe side, so a 
local option election was called and the liquor in- 
terests were overwhelmingly defeated. Lubbock 
and attached counties participated, and only two 
votes were cast in favor of the saloon. 

Thru all of these passing years, we had kept the 
faith, believing that some day, Lubbock w^ould come 
to the front. And now as we look upon the splen- 
did court house and jail, with their capacious adorn- 
ments, the many brick structures for business pur- 
poses, the commodious sanitariums, the spacious 
school buildings, and beautiful residences of the 
city, w^e realize that our dreams, at last have come 
true. As memory carries me back through fleeting 
years, for more than a third of a century, when I 
first looked upon the vast and uninhabited plains, 
and then traced the developments, as time sped on, 
I noted the changing scenes with sublime contem- 
plation. 

There is scarcely a dream of childhood, that 
would seem so unlikely of fulfillment, as one like 
this, that in after years, when the cares and anxie- 
ties of life have multiplied upon us, we will find 
new^ friends and pleasant homes in the far-off 
Southland, when some of us, now here, were boys 
and girls, romping over the green meadow^s of our 
native land, gathering beautiful flowers in merry 
spring time, when w^e listened with childish delight 
to the enchanting music of little birds, as they warb- 

37 



led their sweet songs among the swaying tree-tops, 
or heard the hum of honey bees among the cherry 
blossoms, when we wandered along the little 
streams that wound their way thru our fields, or 
when we helped to gather in the delicious fruits of 
the old apple orchard at home, how little did we 
then imagine that in the distant years, we would 
meet and mingle with kind friends in this chosen 
land. 



38 



PART TWO— MISCELLANEOUS 

Consisting of Original and Selected Articles 

A Tribute to Mrs. Lina Taylor Hunt. 

At the giving of that summons to which we must 
all give heed, the soul of another dear one joined 
the countless millions in the solitudes of their last 
sleep. Though all was done during her last ling- 
ering illness, that loving hands could do, death 
could not be thwarted, and Mrs. Geo. M. Hunt 
breathed her last, Wednesday morning, Nov. 25, 
1903. She leaves to mourn her departure, a hus- 
band, large family, and a host of friends. 

To the bereaved we would say, 'tis a debt w^e 
all must pay, 'tis only by passing through this or- 
deal, that we reach that land where tears flow not, 
where there is no death, where you will never be 
caused to weep over a departing loved one, for there 
are no separations there. 

And further we would admonish them and all 
others to prepare, for death rides on every passing 
breeze, and lurks in every flower. 

She has gone from earth to glory, 

Armed by faith and winged by prayer, 

All her trials on earth are over, 

God's own hand has borne her there. 

God has closed her earthly mission, 

Now have passed her pilgrim days, 
Hope has changed to glad fruition, 
Faitl\ to sight and prayer to praise. 

— A Friend. 
39 



Two men were disputing over their respective 
churches. One was a Baptist and one was a Pres- 
byterian. Finally one of them called a neighbor 
who was passing and asked his opinion as to which 
was the better church in which to be saved. "Well, 
neighbor," he said, "son and I have been hauling 
wheat nearly forty years. There are two roads that 
lead to the mill. One is the valley road and the 
other leads over the hill and never yet has the 
miller asked me which road I came, but he always 
asks, *Is the wheat good?' " — Anonymous. 

The morning after Dora Billow went to church 
with the banker's son, she received a letter from 
Nathaniel Ripple. The letter was written the night 
before. Nathaniel went to church, sat on the back 
seat for a few minutes and then hurried home. "I 
am writing you these few lines to say farewell," he 
wrote. "I don't blame you for thinking more of 
another. Since I have nothing but my heart to 
offer you, I cannot expect you to consider me. I 
can never care for another girl but I don't want 
you to give me a thought. I would rather see you 
happy with another man than unhappy with me. 
I sincerely hope that your life with him will be a 
quiet stroll through shady lanes, where the breezes 
laden with the perfume of wild flowers will play 
about you as you walk hand in hand toward eter- 
nity's shore. Farewell forever." The next even- 
ing Nathaniel called on Dora, and when he left her 
home he w^as the happiest young man in Jagger- 
ville. — Anonymous. 

40 



DO THEY MISS ME AT HOME? 

Do they miss me at home, do they miss me? 

'Twould be an assurance most dear 
To know that this moment some loved one 

Were saying, "I wish he was here;" 
To feel that the group at the fireside 

Were thinking of me as I roam; 
Oh, yes, 'twould be joy beyond measure 

To know that they miss me at home, 
To know that they miss me at home. 

When twilight approaches the season, 

That ever sacred to some, 
Does someone repeat my name over 

And sigh that I tarry so long? 
And is there a chord in the music 

That's missed when my voice is away. 
And a chord in each heart that awaketh 

Regret at my wearisome stay. 
Regret at my wearisome stay? 

Do they set me a chair near the table 

When evening's home pleasures are nigh, 
When the candles are lit in the parlor 

And the stars in the calm azure sky? 
And when the "Good-nights" are repeated 

And all lay down to their sleep. 
Do they think of the absent and waft me 

A whispered 'good-night' while they weep, 
A whispered *good-night' while they weep? 

Do they miss me at home, do they miss me, 

At morning, noon, or night? 
And lingers one gloomy shade around them 

That only my presence can light? 
Are joys less invitingly welcome. 

And' pleasures less hale than before 
41 



Because one is missed from the circle, 

Because I am with them no more, 
Because I am with them no more? 

— Selected. 



SING ME A SONG OF HEAVEN 

Sing me a song of Heaven 

At the close of the busy day, 
When the sunset bums thro' crimson bars 

Of cloudland, and the ev'ning stars 
Twink'ling softly call me away 

To the mystical land of Heaven. 

Sing me a song of Heaven, 

When I'm weary with life's care. 

With its streets of gold and gates of pearl. 
Sardonyx, topaz, amethyst, beryl, 

Jasper walls and mansions fair, 

Just a dear sweet song of Heaven. 

Sing me a song of Heaven, 

When life's billows roll o'er me 

'Till fighting the waves to the lowering sky, 
I across their foamy crests descry 

The lights of home and welcome free. 
The stormless harbor of Heaven. 

Sing me a song of Heaven, 

When my life's sun's sinking fast. 
And anxiously thro' the gloom I gaze 

For the first bright glimpse of the gates of 
Praise, 
'Till I hear above the breakers* blast 
The rapturous songs of Heaven. 

— J. Winford Hunt. 
42 



THE LIBERTY BELL 

They battered mouth 
With broken lips 

Once eloquent with vibrant speech 
Hath passed to silence, 
Not to death; 

For ninety million loyal hearts 
Beneath the starred and belted flag 
Are speaking daily in thy stead; 
And myriads as yet unborn 
Shall gladly loan their willing tongues 
To sing thy praise — 
To live, cheer-filled, die for thee. 

In lands afar 
Where despots rule, 
Or anarchy red-handed reigns. 
Thy name is loved; 
Thy story told in polyglot. 

The very sight of thee inspires; 
It fills with fire the inmost soul; 
For "Liberty throughout the land, 
To all the inhabitants thereof',. 
When well proclaimed 
Makes all men new, 
And living worth the while. 

No tyrant's hand may ring thy knell: 
Nor must thy pulsing cease to swell 
Forevermore : 
Thou glorious, mighty. Freedom's Bell. 

—By J. D. Gillilan, D. D. 



43 



OPTIMISM. 

I would rather be an optimist, seeking the star 
that pierces the night of gloom, or looking for the 
silver lining to the sable cloud, than be a pessi- 
mist, searching for fuel to heap upon the smoulder- 
ing fires of despair. 

I would rather snatch the sunbeam and weave it 
into song and laughter, than take the shadow and 
transform it into the mutterings of discontent. 

I would rather take the prattle of innocent 
childhood, and make it the guiding star of my pil- 
grimage, than take the wail of the disconsolate 
and make it the siren voice tow^ard which my barque 
should forever sail. 

I would rather take the dimple from the rosy 
cheek of my babyhood and endeavor to transplant 
it in perennial setting upon my own brow^, than 
take the wrinkle from it a part of my ow^n visage. 

I w^ould rather take the notes of Nature's song- 
birds and make them consonant w^ith the melodies 
of my ow^n soul than take the croakings of the toad 
and arrange them into jarring discords that should 
forever greet my ear. 

I w^ould rather take the rose painted by the 
hand of the Eternal Artist in tints of celestial beau- 
ty, and pin it on my breast, than take the seared 
leaf, blighted by the breath of the frost king, and 
use it as a badge to portray my somber feelings. 

I would rather chase the rainbow^ than span the 
brow of evening, in quest of the fabled bag of 
gold, than seek surcease from sorrow^ by plung- 

44 



ing into the mirky waves from London's bridge. 

I would rather watch the eagle in his spiral 
course to the vaulted dome than watch the slimy 
snake as he makes his crooked trail through the 
slush and mud. 

I w^ould rather be a Christian, with faith in an 
omnipotent God, and w^ith the star of hope ever 
drawing me to a better w^orld, than be a pagan with 
no beacon light to beckon me beyond the confines 
of my own earthly existence. — Anonymous. 

A BEAUTIFUL TRIBUTE 

The following words w^ere spoken by Mrs. B. 
O. McWhorter in the presentation of a loving cup 
given by the Women's Wesley Class to Geo. M. 
Hunt, their teacher, last Sunday morning: 

"Friends: — I have been asked to perform, this 
morning, a task that is both pleasant and difficult — 
pleasant because of my high esteem and love for a 
grand. Christian character, and too, because it is 
a privilege to confer 'honor where honor is due.' 
Difficult because of my inability to express my feel- 
ings. There is in my heart such a warm regard and 
admiration for a life well spent, such a reverence 
for one who, through all trials has kept 'the faith,' 
that I feel unworthy to even try to express an ap- 
preciation. 

"Mr. Hunt, as representative of our class, I pre- 
sent to you this 'loving' cup and it comes full to 
overflowing w^ith love from every member. May it 
ever suggest to you the love and loyalty of our 

45 



hearts and the sincere respect with which we re- 
gard you." 

To the above, the teacher responded as follows: 

"I must say to the class, that this action on your 
part calls for a few words from me. 1 have aWays 
felt that the kindness and respect you have shown 
me, was all that I deserved and a sufficient reward. 
And now, this additional token of your regard, to- 
gether with the beautiful w^ords that have been 
spoken in the presentation of the gift, really touches 
my heart. It brings feelings to me that I can not 
express. 

**It is said that there are depths in the mighty 
ocean that the plummet can not sound, even so 
there may be feelings of gratitude welling up from 
the depths of the soul that words are inadequate to 
express, so I can say no more now than to tell you 
of my deep appreciation of this gift and truly thank 
you. I will keep this cup while I live, as a precious 
memento and when I am gone, it w^ill pass to some 
of my children to be kept as a priceless souvenir. — 
Contributed. 



An aged infidel himself constitutes the greatest 
monument to the love, long suffering, mercy and 
power of that God w^hom he decries and rejects. 

The backslider gets his first setback in his heart, 
next in his faith, next in his life, and then "he's a 
goner. ' * — Selected. 

46 



IRVIN L. HUNT. 

Irvin L. Hunt, son of George M. and Lina Hunt, 
was born at New Providence, Iowa, June 24, 1871, 
and died at Lubbock, Texas, January 14, 1919., 
aged 47 years, 6 months and 20 days. He received 
his early schooling in the schools of Iowa and Kan- 
sas, and came with the family to Texas in 1 884, 
becoming a member of the little frontier settlement 
of Quaker people at Estacado, in Crosby County, 
on the plains. Here he continued his studies in 
the public schools and the Central Plains Academy, 
and engaged in the pursuits and passed through the 
vicissitudes of the frontier life, working on the cattle 
ranches and freighting on the long trail from the 
distant railroad trading points to the inland settle- 
ments. When Lubbock w^as first projected as a 
town and future metropolis, he, with his parents and 
brothers and sisters, removed to the new center and 
w^ithin a short time had begun his career as a mer- 
chant, soon building up a prosperous business, which 
was patronized by the farmers and surrounding 
ranches for miles. On May 3, 1896, he was mar- 
ried to Miss Etta Green, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. 
John B. Green of Lubbock. To this happy union 
four children, Earl, Carl, Glenn and Fay, were born. 
After some years at Lubbock, he, with his little fam- 
ily, moved to Canyon City, Texas, and engaged in 
the banking business with marked success, his gen- 
tlemanly bearing, kindly courtesy and good busi- 
ness judgment winning custom and confidence in 
every quarter. A few years later, after the railroads 

47 



Kadi to come to Lubbock, he returned there and be- 
came the cashier of the Citizens' National Bank, the 
position he held at the time of his death. Reared 
under the influences of a Christian home and in a 
Christian community, he was early led to Christ, 
and though often in surroundings not conducive to 
an easy following of the Savior, he never wandered 
far afield, and on October 12, 1902, united with 
the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, of which 
he continued a true member. His life, though cast 
in quiet ways, was steadfastly on the right side in 
all matters pertaining to morals and religion. As 
a boy, amid the hardships and dangers of the far 
West, he was always singularly reliable and capable 
in every place of trust and responsibility. Patient, 
brave, resourceful, he was one of those who are 
faithful unto death in all life's changes and exig- 
encies. Thoughtful and considerate of others, hon- 
est, manly and upright, those who knew him best 
loved him most. Friends by the hundreds mourn 
his untimely end. As father and husband he was 
loving and tender, and toiled and planned constant- 
ly that the home and family circle might ever be hap- 
py and free from care, by precept and example 
pointing the path to useful and blameless living. 
Not often in life do w^e find one in whom the ele- 
ments of real manhood were so mixed that life in 
its beauty so charmed those who were happy in 
beholding. May God bless and comfort his loved 
ones. He fell asleep without fear, in the faith, and 
waits in fields of light the coming of them all. — J. 
W. HUNT. 

48 



SON OF GEO. C. AND LOTTIE A. WOLFFARTH 

Geo. C. WolfFarth, Jr., was born May 1 3th, 
1901, and passed to his reward October 1st, 1919. 
He was a grandson of the author of this book. No 
more promising young man has appeared among 
us. Possessing a handsome physique, he w^as quick 
in motion, bright in eye and intellect and clean in 
morals and purposes. Being strong and resolute 
in mind and body, he made a most heroic fight for 
life, which struggle lasted for weeks and even 
months. At last his strength was exhausted and 
death came, but before going he gave every assur- 
ance that his future existence would be with Jesus, 
the Savior of men. George was a very attractive 
young fellow and his father and mother have large 
reasons to congratulate themselves that God gave 
them such a son. — Rev. J. T. Griswold. 



A LOVING TRIBUTE TO JULIAN B. HUNT 

On the morning of February 13, 1917, little 
Julian B. Hunt, the eight-year-old son of C. E. and 
Dora Hunt, passed peacefully to his final reward; 
and, on the 1 4th, he was laid tenderly away in 
the Lubbock Cemetery. 

He was a child of an unusually quiet and sweet 
disposition and was loved by all who knew him. 
The beautiful floral offerings from his little class- 
mates and others, attest their love and esteem. While 
drifting amidst death's gathering gloom, his childish 
faith led him to look away to Eternity's dawn and 

49 



catch a glimpse of angelic hosts that waited to wel- 
come him. home. His many beautiful sayings will 
long be cherished as sacred memories in the sad 
hearts of those who are left to mourn his departure. 
He was taken as it were, an opening bud from the 
parent stem, to be transplanted anew among the 
perennial flowers that bloom in the Garden of God. 
Though his little form serenely rests beneath the 
sod, w^ith the silent stars to watch above him, his 
soul is basking in the sunlight of Eternal Glory, and 
while fleeting time marks the passage of fading 
years, the mellow light of fair Luna's smiling beams, 
w^ill continue to cast a radiant glow upon the sepul- 
chers of those w^ho sleep in the calm retreats of sol- 
itude. And the sw^eet fragrance of blooming 
flowers from the valley and hillside will be wafted 
by gentle zephyrs above each grassy mound that 
marks the last resting place of some loved one. 

Surely, while lingering on this side of the Etern- 
al Shore, we can not fathom the mysteries of Life 
and Death, but "Some time We'll Understand." 

Card of Thanks 

With hearts sad, yet full of gratitude, we wish 
publicly to express our very great appreciation of 
the kindness and sympathy shown us by our many 
friends, during the sickness and death of our dear 
little boy. 

Such sympathetic expressions and deeds of 
kindness by loving hands, certainly helped to lift 
from our hearts the burden of sorrow^. We especial- 

50 



ly want to thank you for the tokens of regard mani- 
fested by many beautiful floral offerings, and per- 
sonal letters of condolence. May Heaven's richest 
blessings follow you as the years go by, and when 
at last you have drifted away into life's evening's 
twilight, may you be surrounded by helping hands 
and sympathetic friends, is the prayer of, 

— Mr. and Mrs. C. E. Hunt. 

DIED 

On the morning of the 1 3th, inst., little Austin, 
son of George C, and Lottie A. Wolff arth, and was 
laid tenderly away on the 1 4th in the Lubbock 
Cemetery, being followed to his last resting place 
by a large concourse of sorrowing relatives and sym- 
pathetic friends. 

Here comes to our minds the beautiful lines of 
an appreciative writer: "The sable hearse moves 
slowly on, as if reluctantly it bore the young un- 
wearied form to that cold couch from whence no 
traveler ere returns." 

The little white casket at the open grave was 
covered with lovely flowers during the touching ser- 
vices conducted by J. R. McGee. Austin was a 
sweet child, loved by all and idolized by his fond 
parents, who, with aching hearts, watched by the 
dying pillow until the solemn hour of 10:15, when 
his pure spirit was freed from its prison home and 
by angel hands, fresh from the fountain of eternal 
life, was borne across the dark stream to bask for- 
ever in the beautiful light of celestial scenes, where 

51 



Heavenly dewdrops in golden garniture sparkle up- 
on crystal waters of the silent sea. He was taken 
as an opening bloom from the parent vine to be 
transplanted anew in fairer fields by the River of 
Life. May the bereaved parents, with the eye of 
faith, look to a happy reunion beyond the drifting 
tide, and cherish the sweet thought that, by and by, 
when their life boat anchors at the other side, little 
Austin will be waiting at the harbor to meet them 
at the Pearly Gates; 

Wearing a crown of diadems, 

And a harp within his hand, 
He will play sweet thrilling anthems 

With his little angel band. 



Uncle George Hunt has consented to furnish us 
a poem every week, and our readers w^ill be able 
to accumulate a splendid collection of Mr. Hunt's 
original thoughts, which are sublime, by watching 
for these poems and clipping them for your scrap 
book. You will notice that his poems run from 
that sincerity to the most ridiculous or mirth-pro- 
voking, which makes the collection the more inter- 
esting. He has also consented to give us some ar- 
ticles on the pioneer days of the Plains country 
which we hope to be able to publish soon. These 
will be extremely interesting and written in his own 
easy way with well chosen words and phrases, we 
count upon them being gems. — Ed. Avalanche. 

52 



GET SOMEBODY ELSE. 

The Lord had a job for me, 

But I had so much to do 
I said: "You get somebody else 

Or wait till I get through." 
I don't know how the Lord came out, 

But he seemed to get along; 
But I felt a kind o' sneakin' — like — 

Knowed I'd done God wrong. 

One day I needed the Lord, 

Needed him right away; 
But he never answered me at all. 

And I could hear him say 
Down in my accusing heart: 

"Nigger, I's got too much to do. 
You get somebody else 

Or wait till I get through." 

Now, when the Lord he have a job for me 

I never tries to shirk; 
I drops what I have on hand 

And does the good Lord's work. 
And my affairs can run along 

Or wait till I get through. 
Nobody else can do the work 

That God marked out for you. 

— Paul Lawrence Dunbar. 



53 



A LETTER AND THE REPLY. 

Mr. George M. Hunt, Lubbock, Texas, 
Dear Sir — 

I saw your name in Home and State, and I pre- 
sume you are a pro. I used to be a pro., and thought 
it was right, at least, I supposed it was; it always 
looked good to me. St. John says "Judge not by 
the appearance, but judge righteous judgment." 
Man looketh on the outward appearance, but God 
looketh at the heart. "All is not gold that glit- 
ters." Prohibition is a whited sepulcher, beautiful 
without, nice to look at, nice to contemplate, but it 
won't bear investigation, its contrary to both scrip- 
ture and reason — its Satan's remedy for intemper- 
ance, in order to divert our minds from the true 
remedy which is education. I can't agree with His 
Satanic Majesty. I believe that ignorance, and not 
the saloon, is the cause of intemperance; therefore 
education, and not prohibition, is the remedy. What 
is the curse of the world? God didn't put Adam 
and Eve under prohibition, but under law. Law 
niakes us responsible, w^hile prohibition makes us 
irresponsible. 1 admit prohibition for children, 
criminals, invalids, and lunatics, but not for re- 
sponsible persons. I believe parents should say 
whether their children should use intoxicants and 
stimulants. If a man steals a horse, put him in a 
prison for period of correction. Many a convalescent 
would relapse from over-eating if allowed to do 
so. Prohibition is the axis upon which the world 
revolves — "The larger the axis, the greater the fric- 

54 



tion." I suppose this truth in philosophy, as appHed 
to prohibition, is apparent to all — the more prohi- 
bition there is in the world, the greater the friction 
in both church and state, and the less prohibition 
there is in the world, the less the friction in both 
church and state. Prohibition generates friction, and 
don't you forget it. Respectfully, A. B. Foster, 
Weir, Texas, December 1 7 th, 1911. 



Lubbock, Texas, Dec. 22, 1911. 
A. B. Foster, 

Weir, Texas, 
Dear Miss, Madam, or Sir: — 

I address you thus, from the fact that I never 
heard of you until I received your letter of recent 
date. You may be a pretty girl, a handsome "Mer- 
ry Widow," or a homely old bachelor. 

From your initials "A. B." it seems that your 
given name might be Anna Belle, or your pap 
probably meant to do you honor by naming you 
after one of your congenial brethren, Anheuser 
Busch. 

You state that you have seen my name in Home 
and State, and presume that I am a pro. You have 
seen Jake Wolter's name in the same paper, but 
you certainly do not imagine that he is a pro. Now 
my friend, from the contents of your letter, I don't 
know whether to esteem it as a mere joke, or con- 
sider you, what you really seem to be, a fit subject 
for Barnum's Museum. Does brother Barnum know^ 
you? If so, you will certainly be solicited to enter 

55 



his ring, where he can put you on exhibition as one 
of the greatest living curiosities of the world. Among 
other things you say: "Man looketh upon the out- 
ward appearance, but God looketh upon the heart." 

How^ very true. Then God pity the dram sell- 
er, who fills his coffers with blood money, v>nrung 
from the bleeding hearts of widowed mothers, and 
homeless childhood. Now A. B., if you do not 
get a job with friend Barnum, I wish you would re- 
turn to the prohibition fold, and help us to rid Texas 
of the accursed saloon. Then we can mutually en- 
joy the happy songs that will arise from once des- 
olate homes, w^hile Angels w^ill peep over the silvery 
parapets of Heaven, and bend a listening ear to 
catch the sweet echoes of that music as it floats out 
upon our southern breeze. 

You further say, "Prohibition is a whited sepul- 
cher, beautiful to contemplate, but it won't bear in- 
vestigation. It's contrary to both scripture and 
reason." I am afraid you have neglected your Sun- 
day School, or you wouldn't write thus. Again, 
you say, "Prohibition is the axis upon which the 
world revolves. The larger the axis, the greater 
the friction. And the smaller the axis, the less the 
friction." 

This is certainly a remarkable proposition, and 
it seems to me that it could only be produced by 
a spontaneous combustion resulting from a chimeri- 
cal ostentation of your cerebellum. Uncle Solomon* 
that wise old man, has furnished us with two prov- 
erbs, which give something of a double geared argu- 
ment, and 1 am at a loss to know which one to apply 

56 



in your case, for in one verse he says: "Answer not a 
fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto 
him.'* 

And in the next verse he says: "Answer a fool 
according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own 
conceit.** 

I w^ould notice some other points, (not argu- 
ments), but my letter is already too long, so I 
will close with the w^ords of a certain preacher. 
The God that made the lofty mountain, made the 
little hill. The God that made the mighty ocean, 
made the little rivulet, and I will add, that when 
God made you, he made a daisy. 

P. S. — I hope you will appreciate the fact that 
in our first correspondence, I have endeavored to 
touch you lightly. 



LAST WORDS OF DANIEL WEBSTER, 
"I STILL LIVE." 

The beams of the setting sun will fall with a 
mellowed light on the spot where the majestic form 
of Webster molders back to dust, and w^here the 
anthem of the Puritan was heard as he came to 
build an altar to his God, and find a quiet tomb. 
May the worshipper of after years approach that 
hallowed shrine with no empty offering of idle cu- 
riosity, no vain and soulless orison; but w^ith grate- 
ful and devout homage may the pilgrim of another 
age journey with reverent adoration to that conse- 
crated spot, and, arched upon its humble tablet, 

57 



read, in that simple but significant epitaph, "I Still 
Live!" — the high prophetic record of the last and 
sublimest victory of his life — that of the unblench- 
ing spirit over death. 



The sun that illumined that planet of clay, 

Had sunk in the west of an unclouded day; 

And the cold dews of death stood like diamonds of light, 

Thickly set in the pale, dusky forehead of Night: 

From each gleamed a ray of that fetterless soul. 

Which had bursted its prison, despising control. 

And, careering above, o'er earth's darkness and gloom, 

Inscribed, "I Still Live," on the arch of the tomb! 

The gleam of that promise shall brighten the page 

Of the prophet and statesman through each rolling age. 

He lives! Prince and peasant shall join the acclaim; 

No fortune can make him the martyr of Fame. 

He lives! from the grave of the patriot Greek 

Comes the voice of the dead, which, though silent, shall 

speak ; 
Light leaps from the cloud which has deepened the gloom, 
And flashes its glance on the arch of his tomb! 

He lives, ever lives, in the hearts of the free; 
The wing of his fame spreads across the broad sea; 
He lives where the banner of Freedom's unfurled; 
The pride of New England! — the wealth of the world! 
Thou land of the pilgrim! how hallowed the bed. 
Where thy patriot sleeps, and thy heroes have bled! 
Let age after age in perennial bloom 
BRAID THE LIGHT OF THY STARS ON THE ARCH 
OF HIS TOMB." 

— Lewis Gaylord Clark. 



58 



DECAY OF THE AMERICAN INDIANS 

As a race, they have withered from the land. 
Their arrows are broken, their springs have dried 
up, their cabins are in the dust. Their council-fire 
has long since gone out on the shore, and their war- 
cry is fast dying away to the untrodden West. Slow- 
ly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and 
read their doom in the setting sun. They are shrink- 
ing before the mighty tide which is pressing them 
away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave, 
which will settle over them forever. Ages hence, 
the inquisitive white man, as he stands by some 
growing city, will ponder on the structure of their 
disturbed remains, and wonder to w^hat manner of 
person they belonged. They will live only in 
the songs and chronicles of their exterminators. Let 
these be faithful to their rude virtues as men, and 
pay due tribute to their unhappy fate as a people. 



LAMENT OF AN INDIAN CHIEF. 

I will go to my tent, and lie down in despair, 
I will paint me with black, and will sever my hair; 
I will sit on the shore, where the hurricane blows, 
And reveal to the god of the tempest my woes; 
I will weep for a season on bitterness fed, 
For my kindred are gone to the hills of the dead; 
But they died not by hunger, or lingering decay, — 
The steel of the white man hath swept them away: 
My wife, and my children, — oh, spare me the tale! — 
For who is there left that is kin to GEEHALE! 

— Charles Sprague. 
59 



"A UTTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM" 

Dallas, Texas, April 25, 1918. — Cadet Frank 
Countryman of Kelly Field, was talking at Honey 
Grove, Texas, last night, and gave the most graphic 
description of the horrors of warfare, the fiendish- 
ness of the Huns and the determination of every 
red-blooded American soldier to fight this thing 
out to a finish, when a little girl broke from her 
parents, rushed up to Countryman, threw her arms 
around him, and said she wanted to kiss him. Over- 
come with the emotion. Countryman took up the 
child and kissed her, and as he held her up to the 
people he said: 

"I am fighting for a little girl just like this and 
so are we all.** 

The audience with tears streaming down their 
faces, subscribed one hundred and fifty-six thousand 
dollars to the Liberty Loan. — Selected. 



FUN WITH T. AND S. 

Theofalus thistle, the successful thistle sifter, in 
sifting a sieve full of unsifted thistles, thrust three 
thouand thistles through the thick of his thumb. 

See that thou in sifting a sieve full of unsifted 
thistles, dost not thrust three thousand thistles thru 
the thick of thy thumb. — Bronson*s Elocution. 



60 



THE AMERICAN UNION. 

When my eyes shall be turned to behold for 
the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him 
shining on the broken and dishonored fragments 
of a once-glorious Union; on States dissevered, dis- 
cordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, 
or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood I Let 
their last feeble and lingering glance behold the 
gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now known and 
honored throughout the earth, still full high advanc- 
ed, its arms and trophies streaming in their orignal 
luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single 
star obscured, bearing for its motto no such mis- 
erable interrogatory as, "What is all this worth?" 
Nor those other words of dilusion and folly, "Lib- 
erty first, and Union afterward;" but every-where, 
spread all over in characters of living light, blazing 
on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and 
over the land, and in every wind under the whole 
heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true 
American heart, — Liberty and Union, now and for- 
ever, one and inseparable! — ^Webster. 



BIRTHDAY REFLECTIONS 

Another year has parted, and its knell is sound- 
ing o'er the Past's silent ocean. Ah, it is an hour 
for tears! There is a specter-form in memory's 
voiceless chambers, pointing now its dim, cold fing- 
er to the beautiful and holy visions that have passed 
away, and left no shadow of their loveliness on 

61 



the dead waste of life. That specter lifts the coffin- 
lid of dear, remembered Love, and, bending mourn- 
fully above the pale, sweet form that slumbers 
there, scatters dead flow^ers o'er what is gone for- 
ever. 

I am not as in the years of boyhood. There 
w^ere hours of joyousness that came like angel-shapes 
upon my heart; but they are altered now, and rise 
on memory's view like statues pale by a dim fount 
of tears. And there w^ere springs, upon whose 
stream the sweet young leaned to list the gush of 
music; but their depths are turned to dust. There, 
too, were holy lights, that shone, sweet rainbows of 
the spirit, o'er the skies of new existence; but their 
gleams, like the lost Pleiad of the olden time, have 
faded from my vision, and are lost 'mid the cold 
mockeries of earth. 

Alone! 1 am alone I The guardians of my 
young and sinless years have gone, and left me here 
a solitary w^anderer. Their low^ tones of love oft 
sw^ell upon the evening w^inds, or w^ander sweetly 
down through falling dews at midnight's still and 
melancholy hour; but voice alone is there. Ages 
of thought come o'er me there; and, w^ith a spirit 
w^on back to its earlier years, 1 kneel again at young 
life's broken shrine. 

The thirst of power has been a fever to my spirit. 
Oft, even in my childhood, I was wont to gaze upon 
the sw^ollen cataract rushing dow^n w^ith its eternal 
thunder-peal; the far expanse of ocean, with its in- 
finite of stormy waters roaring to the heavens; the 
night-storm fiercely rending the great oaks from the 

62 



rock-pinnacles; the giant clouds tossing their plumes 
like warriors in the sky, and hurling their keen light- 
nings through the air like the red flash of swords. 
Ay, 1 was wont to gaze on these, and almost weep, 
to think I could not match their strength. The same 
wild thirst for power is yet upon me; it has been a 
madness in my day-dreams, and a curse upon my 
being. It has led me on to mingle in the strife of 
men, and dare the Samiel-breath of hate; and 1 
am now, even in the opening of my manhood's 
prime, one whom the w^orld loves not. 

Well — it is well. There is a silent purpose in 
my heart; and neither love, nor hate, nor fear, shall 
tame my own fixed daring. Though my being's 
stream gives out no music now, 'tis passing back 
to its far fountain in the heavens, and there 'twill 
rest forever in the ocean-tide of God's immensity. 
I will not mourn life's shrouded memories. I can 
still drink in the unshadowed beauty of the uni- 
verse, gaze with a swelling soul upon the blue mag- 
nificence above, and hear the hymn of Heaven in 
every starlight ray, and fill glen, hill, and vale, and 
mountain, with the bright and glorious visions pour- 
ed from the deep home of an immortal mind. Past 
Year, farewell I — George D. Prentice. 



63 



THERE IS NO DEATH. 

There is no death! The stars go down 

To rise upon some other shore, 
And bright in heaven's jeweled crown 

They shine for evermore. 

There is no death! The forest leaves 
Convert to life the viewless air; 

The rocks disorganize to feed 
The hungry moss to bear. 

There is no death! The dust we tread 

Shall change, beneath the summer showers, 

To golden grain, or mellowed fruit, 
Or rainbow-tinted flowers. 

There is no death! The leaves may fall 
And flowers may fade and pass away — 

They only wait, through wintry hours. 
The warm, sweet breath of May. 

There is no death! The choicest gifts 
That heaven hath kindly lent to earth 

Are ever first to seek again 
The country of their birth. 

And all things that for growth or joy 
Are worthy of our love or care, 

Whose loss has left us desolate. 
Are safely garnered there. 

Though life become a desert waste. 
We know its fairest, sweetest flowers. 

Transplanted into paradise, 
Adorn immortal bowers. 

The voice of birdlike melody 

That we have missed and mourned so long 
Now mingles with the angel choir 

In everlasting song. 
64 



There is no death. Although we grieve 

When beautiful, familiar forms 
That we have learned to love are torn 

From our embracing arms — 

Although with bowed and broken heart, 
With sable garb and silent tread, 

We bear their senseless dust to rest, 
And say that they are "dead." 

They are not dead. They have but passed 
Beyond the mists that blind us here. 

Into the new and larger life 
Of that serener sphere. 

They have but dropped their robe of clay 
To put their shining raiment on; 

They have not wandered far away — 
They are not "lost" nor "gone." 

Though disenthralled and glorified, 
They still are here and love us yet; 

The dear ones they have left behind 
They never can forget. 

And sometimes, when our hearts grow faint 
Amid temptations fierce and dep. 

Or when the wildly raging waves 
Of grief or passion sweep. 

We feel upon our fevered brow 

Their gentle touch, their breath of balm. 
Their arms enfold us, and our hearts 

Grow comforted and calm. 

And ever near us, though unseen, 
The dear, immortal spirits tread; 

For all the boundless universe 
Is Life — ^there are no dead! 

L. McCreery. 



65 



THE TOUSLEHEAD. 

Joy be yours, dear little maid, 

Making pies there in the shade; 

With your dollies in a row. 

Placed that they might watch, you know, 

'Neath the spreading Chestnut tree; 

Won't you pause and chat with me? 

What know I of joy and play. 

You ask me on this summer's day? 

Well my memory's backward led: — 

I was once a touslehead. 

With the apron that you wear, 

With your little arms so bare; 

With the sunbeams on your face. 

And your mass of tangled grace; 

With freckles on your cheek and nose, 

With the mud between your toes; 

With an innocence ne'er seen. 

Of all that's pure you are the queen; 

To the spring time you seem wed — 

Joy is yours, dear touslehead. 

Countless pies your dear hands make 
And place in sunshine, there to bake; 
You find the first wee violet blue; 
You play in brook and hay-loft too; 
You romp with other girls and boys. 
Do anything to make a noise; 
At night, so very tired are you. 
At last, tucked snugly into bed. 
You dream of play, dear touslehead. 

Make the most of life today. 
While you're in its month of May, 
All too soon, you'll have to lay 
Aside your games of childish play; 
All too soon, you'll have to part 
66 



With your little childish art; 
Hands like yours have played before, 
And made mud pies, in days of yore, 
Now they toil where time has led — 
Joy be yours, dear touslehead. 

— ^Elmyr Doran Warren. 



The following Essay, on * 'Thrift," written by 
Ewell Leon Hunt, the twelve-year-old son of Alvan 
G. Hunt, and grandson of the author of this book, 
received the State prize, offered by The Fort Worth 
Star-Telegram, in I 9 1 8 : 

"The majority of American citizens do not real- 
ize the part that America must play in this strug- 
gle, for the overthrow of 'Autocracy.* It means that 
every true patriotic American must do his bit to 
help out in this war for 'Humanity and Freedom.' 
If France, in the thickest of the fight, is needing more 
supplies to keep up her armies, if England is suffer- 
ing for want of more food, if Belgium must have our 
assistance, and if Italy is striving to keep out the 
invader without food and clothes sufficient to keep 
them in comfort, then should not we do everything 
possible to help our allies? 

"Thrift means to be economical. To be econom- 
ical is that any one of us must never waste food of 
any kind. 

"Never leave a crumb on your plate, never 

throw down a piece of bread, eat less wheat bread 

67 



and more corn bread, always do on the least amount 
of sugar possible. 

"Join the Red Cross and give every nickel pos- 
sible to Uncle Sam in some way. 

"Our soldiers must be fed, our allies are need- 
ing our help, and in reality the turn-out of this war 
is depending on America. The war is fierce. The 
war means the sacrifice of many precious lives to 
make the world safe for 'Democracy.* 

"Then if thousands and thousands of the young, 
best developed sons of America are giving their 
lives for their country's sake on a foreign battle- 
field, then should not we, here at home, back them 
up? Buy Thrift Stamps and War Saving Certifi- 
cates if you want to help win this war.** 

The poems which follow, are among those that 
this same little boy wrote, at the age of twelve: 



MOTHER. 

A boy's best friend is his mother, 
A loving hand always to lend; 

In existence there is no other, 
Always so patient to the end. 

She's kind and soothing in my troubles, 
All of them she has to bear; 

And at all times in my sickness, 
She is so full of loving care. 

Oh: I think how I could trust her, 
If my life was in her hands; 

I'd feel with perfect satisfaction. 
First of all my mother stands. 
68 



RING COTTON. 

Why should we ignore King Cotton? 

Our southern plains bestow. 
It keeps us warm when winter's cloak, 

Has wrapped the fields with snow. 

It cheers us when the sky is dark, 
And when our hearts are blue. 

No richer gift has Autumn poured, 
And gave it all to you. 

All thru the days of sunny May, 

When spring begins to fade, 
We take the horses from the bam, 

And then the rows are made. 

When June days begin to brighten, 

It sprouts up from the soil. 
With sun and rain there's none so grand, 

From farmers' earnest toil. 

And when the sprouts have ripened, 
And the hulls are bursting fast. 

We reap what we have sown before, 
November's here at last. 

And then we take it to the mill. 
When flowers have ceased to bloom. 

It's made into some useful things, 
By going through the loom. 

And when the hills are wet with snow. 

And clouds are over head. 
It cheers us very much to know. 

That we've a good warm bed. 



69 



CHRISTMAS. 

The ice and snow are on the ground, 
The harvest all is* garnered in; 

The Christmas tree wc gather round, 
When com and maize are in the bin. 

We sit around the glowing fire, 
The happy night at last has come; 

The children get their heart's desire, 
Candy, nuts, and chewing gum. 

Good old Santa never fails, 

He always comes on Christmas eve; 
He tells all kinds of funny tales. 

Oh, how we hate to see him leave. 



DOWN UPON THE SEASHORE. 

It was down upon the seashore. 

On a lovely night in June; 
That I gazed upon the halo. 

Around the silvery moon. 

I thought of famous men, 

That now are in their graves; 

Many of whom are buried, 
Beneath the restless waves. 

I thought of hideous monsters. 

In the bottom of the sea; 
And hoped, that in that Sepulcher, 

They would not bury me. 



70 



PART THREE 

Consisting of the Author's Poems. 

BEAUTIFUL MAY. 

The sentiment expresed in the following poem, was 
inspired as the writer stood, one beautiful morning in 
May, upon the banks of the grand Yellow House Canyon. 
The beautiful wild flowers that clothed the valley and 
decked the hillside, presented a scene akin to enchant- 
ment. Sweet music of little birds, was wafted upon the 
morning breeze, and all nature was aglow with loveli- 
ness, under the reviving influence of refreshing showers. 

I stand on the banks of the canyon, 
Reviewing fair nature's display. 

And listen to little birds singing 
This beautiful morning in May. 

I look o'er the hills and the valley, 
That are clothed in verdant array. 

Where lovely wild flowers are blooming. 
This beautiful morning in May. 

I catch the first gleam of sunrising, 

With its glowing, silvery ray. 
Adding charm to the sparkling dewdrops, 

This beautiful morning in May. 

The stream in the cap-rocked canyon, 

Is quietly winding its way, 
Through clusters of sweet fragrant flowers. 

This beautiful morning in May. 
71 



I turn to the home of my childhood, 
When my heart was young and gay, 

In fancy I see its green meadows, 
This beautiful morning in May. 

I romp o'er the fields and the orchard 
With brothers and sisters at play. 

Recalling the pleasures departed, 
This beautiful morning in May. 

When musing, how sweet to remember 
Our own native home far away, 

Where we gathered lilies and roses, 
Some beautiful morning in May. 

But leaving this fond reminiscence, 

We turn to a happier day, 
When we'll gather perennial flowers 

In fairer Eternity's May. 



72 



IF WE COULD KNOW. 

If we could know that some sweet day, 

Beyond the flight of years, 
We'd feel again the joys of earth, 

Without her bitter tears, 
How trifling would our burdens seem. 

In view of Heaven's crown, 
We'd meekly bear them to life's close, 

And calmly lay them down. 

If we could only lift the veil, 

That hides the other shore. 
And see within the Pearly Gates, 

Our loved ones gone before. 
With glit'ring jewels in each crown 

And robes of beauty rare. 
Then would we trust the beacon light. 

To guide us over there. 

If echoes from the bright beyond. 

Could break upon life's strand. 
And we could catch angelic sounds 

That come from glory land. 
Sweet notes of dear ones over there. 

In songs that never die. 
Our fondest hope would ever be, 

To join them by and by. 

If scenes from Zion's sunlit hills 

Could open to our view, 
If we could see God's ransomed hosts. 

And thus our faith renew. 
Then, drifting to the other side, 

Upon time's silent stream. 
Beautiful fields of Paradise, 

Would be life's sweetest dream. 

73 



Yet if we will accept God's Word, 

Which shows salvation free, 
We'll rest upon His promises, 

And ling'ring doubts will flee. 
Then, as we near life's even tide. 

Triumphantly we'll sing 
"Oh! grave where is thy victory, 

O! death where is thy sting?" 



COLLOQUY— AT THE CLOSE OF THE 
NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

"Mamma why are you sad tonight; 

What is it makes you cry?" 
"Why papa just to think the girls 

Have said to home good-by." 

"Well mamma, you are always sad. 

When the girls are away — " 
"But papa it's more lonely now. 

For they are gone to stay." 

"Why mamma see their trinkets here, 

Their pictures on the wall," 
"But papa when I look at them, 

The tears unbidden fall," 

"Mamma why does it make you sad, 

To see their pictures there?" 
"Why papa look around you here. 

And se€ each vacant chair." 



74 



"Well mamma spring will come again, 
With singing birds and flowers." 

"But papa they will not return, 
To cheer my lonely hours." 

"Then mamma let us wander back 

To eighteen sixty-nine, 
Just thirty years ago tonight, 

When first I called you mine." 

"Let's tread again the garden walks 

Among the roses fair. 
And let sweet mem'ry of the past 

Remove your anxious care." 

"Papa though I should meet again 
The friends of early years. 

The pleasure thus would not suffice 
To stay my heartfelt tears." 

"Then mamma let us place our hopes 

On life's eternal shore. 
Where sweet re-union comes again 

And parting is no more." 

"Yes, papa we will look beyond 
To Heaven's shining dome 

And trust when we are gathered there 
The girls will all come home." 



76 



CAMPAIGN SONG. 

The following campaign song, written by our Quaker 
Prohibitionist, may be sung to the tune of "Old Black 
Joe." It is entitled "Tex-as-Dry." 

Come voters all, and bravely take your stand, 
Arise now, and vote for God and native land, 

Stand for the right and soon the day will come. 
With happy voices softly singing, 

Home Sweet Home. 

Chorus 
We're waiting, yes waiting, it's coming bye and bye; 
To set the echoes sweetly ringing, 

Tex-as-Dry. 

Our sunny land is longing for the day, 

When by our votes we'll sweep saloons away. 

When, through the mist, a brighter dawn we'll see, 
With echoes bounding o'er the hill tops, 

Tex-as-Free. 

Chorus 

Close out saloons, by voting as you pray, 

Rescue our boys from pitfalls in their way, 

Then joyous songs, from happy homes will come. 
And blend in chorus o'er the valleys, 

Good-Bye-Rum. 

Chorus 

Gird on your armor, ready for the fight. 

Look through the shadows, for the gleaming light, 

Strike down the dram shops, all along the way. 
And hear the joyous shouts of freedom, 

Some-Sweet-Day. 

Chorus 
76 



THE DREAM OF FORTY TWOERS. 

(Tune — "In The Sweet By and By"). 

There's a beautiful land far away, 
With the green fields of Eden in view, 

Where sweet music floats out on the breeze 
And redeemed ones all play "Forty two." 

Chorus. 

Oh, how happy that day, 

When our sorrows are bidden adieu, 
Oh, how happy that day, 

When the angels all play "Forty Two." 

There are evergreen trees over there. 

Where we'll meet with our friends always true. 

While the angels are singing sweet songs. 
As we sit there and play "Forty Two." 

Chorus. 

There we'll walk on the fair golden streets, 
'Mid the heavenly scenes ever new. 

Till the voices of angels resound, 

It is time now to play "Forty Two." 

Chorus. 

When you meet by the River of Life, 
We will offer sweet music for you. 

Then we'll join in that popular game 
And together we'll play "Forty Two." 

Chorus. 

We will meet twice a week over there, 
'Neath the glow of the bright azure blue, 

And sweet music from Seraphs we'll hear. 

For they'll sing while we play "Forty Two." 

Chorus. 
77 



A PROHIBITION SONG. 

(Tune — ^Yankee Doodle). 

Our temp'erance folks are on the way, 
They're coming thick and faster; 

And soon the rummies must prepare 
To meet their great disaster. 

Chorus. 

WeVe got the antis on the run, 

They're in a sad condition; 
But some of them may face about 

And vote for prohibition. 

Then clear the track and don't get hurt, 

For pros are in the saddle; 
They'll press the fight and soon will see 

The antis all skedaddle. 

Chorus. 

The gallant hosts are marching on. 
We hear the distant rumble; 

The whiskey demon soon must go. 
And boozers take a tumble. 

Chorus. 

Now just one verse for prohi folks, 
Whose tippling makes them frisky; 

And while they vote against saloons 
Some guzzle down their whiskey. 

Chorus. 

Then let us hope such pros will stop. 
And put themselves to thinking; 

For if they would command respect 
They'll have to quit their drinking. 

Chorus. 
78 



TRIBUTE TO LITTLE MARIE. 

Our precious child of tender years, 

With curls of golden hair, 
Has anchored at the Crystal Sea, 

And left a vacant chair. 

Although her loving little heart. 

Is free from every care. 
We can but look with solemn thot, 

Upon that vacant chair. 

When Christmas greeting comes again. 

Our darling wont' be there. 
And we will view with throbbing hearts, 

That little vacant chair. 

The withered rose will bloom again. 

Its fragrance fill the air. 
But sweet Marie will never come, 

To fill the vacant chair. 

Her little trinkets laid away, 
The clothes she used to wear. 

Will call to mind the precious one. 
That left a vacant chair. 

We trust to meet her some day. 

Beyond the Golden Stair, 
For soon each one will cross the bar. 

And leave a vacant chair. 



79 



DREAMING IN THE SHADOWS. 

I lay me down beneath the shade, 

And sleep stole over me. 
I slept and dreamed that music grand, 

Came floating o'er the sea- 

And to me in the land of dreams, 

Came strains of long ago; 
The first old song that met my ear 

Was that of "Old Black Joe." 

And while in quiet dreams I lay, 
Thru wooded dells I strolled; 

And listened to the plaintive words, 
"Will You Love Me When I'm Old?" 

Then while in this ecstatic sleep. 

As by an angel band, 
I heard in chorus soft and sweet, 

"Some Time We'll Understand." 

And far away among the hills. 
Where I was wont to roam, 

I heard in accents soft and low, 

The words of "Home Sweet Home." 

And while enraptured with this song, 

Like some celestial air; 
I seemed to hear with thrilling heart, 

"Tell Mother I'll Be There." 

And yet I heard a sweeter song. 

That echoed o'er the sea; 
Then came to me in glad refrain, 

"Nearer My God To Thee." 

And when we reach the border land, 

While ceaseless ages roll; 
May we all sing that happy song, 

"Jesus Lover of My Soul." 
80 



TEMPERANCE SONG. 

(Tune — "In The Sweet By And By"). 

There are homes in our beautiful land, 
Where the comforts of life never come; 

For the fond mother's heart ha« been crushed, 
While her children are victims of rum. 

Chorus. 

But the time soon will come, 

And the day is beginning to dawn; 

Yes, the time soon will come, 

When the curses of dram shops are gone. 

Haste the day when our land shall be free. 
From the chain that has bound us so long; 

When from music that floats on the breeze, 
"Home Sweet Home" will resound in each song. 

Chorus. 

We can see in the bright golden mom. 

The approach of a happier day; 
When the shadows that darken our home, 

Will be lifted and rum swept away. 

Chorus. 

The hand-writing we see on the wall, 
And the demon of drink soon must die; 

When o'er valley and hilltops we'll sing — 
The sweet song — That all Texas is dry! 

Chorus. 



81 



THE COTTAGE BY THE OLD GRIST MILL. 

Over the hills I used to go, 

Thru pastures green or thru the snow 
Across the fields and wooded dell, 

Along old paths I knew so well. 
At eventide my way I'd wend, 

To meet at home my faithful friend, 
And in my mem'ry lingers still, 

That cottage by "The Old Grist Mill." 

*Twas here on pleasant summer eves, 

We sat beneath the rustling leaves. 
And o'er the western hills afar. 

We watched the fading evening star. 
Under the rilent stars above. 

We felt the thrill of youthful love, 
And in my mem'ry lingers still. 

That cottage by "The Old Grist Mill." 

Nearby the stream that wound its way. 

We heard the rippling waters play. 
And their murm'ring soft and low, 

Beneal^h fair Luna's ev'ning glow. 
Our pleasant walks along that stream 

Seem now to me a fading dream. 
But in my mem'ry lingers still, 

That cottage by "The Old Grist Mill." 

But now those happy days are gone. 

And still the fleeting years roll on. 
Thus we have learned from what has past 

That best of friends may part at last. 
And so we find there comes a day. 

When early friendships fade away, 
But in my mem'ry lingers still, 

That cottage by "The Old Grist Mill." 



82 



MY BABY BROTHER. 

When I was only four years old, 

I had a baby brother; 
I tried to teach him how to talk, 

And lisp the name of mother. 

He was a frisky little chap, 
And cut up like a monkey; 

And when I pinched his little nose. 
It made him mighty spunky. 

He had lots of little play things, 

Among them was a dollar; 
I'd sometimes take it from his hands, 

So I could hear him holler. 

rd roll him over on the floor, 

I liked to see him wiggle; 
And when I tickled his barefeet. 

It always made him giggle. 

I loved to tease that little tot, 
He was so cute and small; 

I always liked to hear him laugh. 
But would rather hear him squall. 

I watched his cunning little tricks, 

Thru my childhood's fleeting years; 
But never did he look so sweet, 
• As, when smiling thru his tears. 



83 



TO MY GIRLS. 

At twilight I have heard sweet songs, 
My girls were wont to sing; 

And I recall what joy to me, 

Their thrilling notes would bring. 

I hope to hear them sing a-new, 

Beyond this vale of tears; 
And catch sweet echoes of their songs, 

Thruout unfading years. 

By faith, I view that happy land, 
A home that waits for me; 

And there I'll listen to them sing. 
Beyond the Crystal Sea. 

There'll be a radiant gleam of joy. 

That to the soul belongs; 
And we will join the seraph band. 

In sweet angelic songs. 

We'll gather at the River Side, 

Among the evergreens; 
And sing while endless years roll on. 

Amid celestial scenes. 

And while Eternal years go by. 

And all our sorrows past; 
With ecstasy we'll sing God's praise, 

That we are home at last. 



84 



THE KAISER'S GOAT. 

There is a palace far away, 

It's in a land remote; 
But we will reach it by and by, 

And get the kaiser's goat. 

Unfurled, upon the passing breeze. 
The Stars and Stripes will float; 

And we will bear them proudly on. 
To get the kaiser's goat. 

The Germans' wrongs are manifold, 

Their cruelties we note; 
So we will hurry on our way, 

To get the kaiser's goat. 

Over the ruined homes they've made, 
These heartless Germans gloat; 

But this will end when we are thru. 
And get the kaiser's goat. 

Now, let us talk the matter up. 

And then we'll take a vote; 
When we shall find that all agree, 

To take the kaiser's goat. 

His breeches, we may let him keep. 

And possibly his coat, 
But there is one thing we must have, 

And that's the kaiser's goat. 



85 



A TRIBUTE TO OUR BOYS IN FRANCE. 

Upon the ocean deep and wide, 

Our boys are drifting o'er the tide. 

To gather on a foreign shore, 

And join their comrades gone before; 

And they together in their might, 
Will gallantly defend the right. 

Before the foe they'll bravely stand, 
For freedom's cause on sea and land; 

But some will find their lonely graves 
Beyond the ocean's rolling waves; 

No tender hand to lay them low, 
Beneath the clover or the snow. 

Unfading will their laurels be, 
In facing death beyond the sea, 

And ever eager to advance. 

Upon the battle fields of France; 

But each has left a vacant chair, 
To fight for honor over there. 

They've said to home and friends farewell. 
To take their stand mid shot and shell; 

To battle on with sword and gun, 
Until the victory is won; 

While from the home bereft of joy. 
Ascends a prayer for mother's boy. 

Postscript — 

Just watch and see 'em lick the Hun, 

And scare the Germans till they run; 
Then off for Berlin they will go, 

On German soil to meet the foe; 
They'll march along o'er vale and hill. 

To get a whack at kaiser bill. 



86 



CONSERVATION. 

In recent months, much has been said, 

About conserving food; 
And we will start, to do our part, 

If in the proper mood. 

Each Monday is our wheatless day, 

And all demands we'll meet; 
But some of us, may make a fuss. 

Because we don't have wheat. 

On Tuesday, we should use no meat, 

No crispy bacon smell; 
But if we're true, we'll all pull thru. 

And make it very well. 

Again, on Wednesday, we are asked, 

To do without our wheat; 
And you may bet, we'll not forget. 

This fair request to meet. 

On Saturday, we have no pork, 

But there is still relief; 
Tho pork we lack, we'll have a whack. 

At cotton tails and beef. 

Then, ev'ry day, there'll be one meal, 
When we should have no meat; 

This we'll not mind, for we will find, 
There's something else to eat. 

Leave off your wheat one meal each day. 

It has been plainly said; 
And we are told, that young and old. 

Should cut out their wheat bread. 



87 



The program now, each one must know, 
Since so much has been said; 

Let's not be slow, to make it go, 
And fill up on com bread. 

If we could fully comprehend, 

What conservation means; 
We'd say good-bye, to pumpkin pie, 

And live on butter beans. 



TO THE EDITOR— A CARD OF THANKS 

That you will charge, I've lately heard. 

For cards of thanks one cent a word; 
Tho out of funds, with thanks I note. 

The very pleasant words you wrote, 
About my poems furnished you. 

Seen in your paper's last issue; 
And if my thanks are not enough, 

I'll pay the rest in garden stuff. 



88 



THE ORPHAN BOY. 

I met a little orphan boy, 

One day upon the street; 
And tho his clothes were soiled and torn, 

His face was really sweet. 

Where is your mamma little man? 

To him I kindly said; 
And with a tear drop in his eye, 

He answered: "She is dead." 

Fm waiting for my papa now, 

I think ril see him soon; 
I saw him just a while ago. 

Step into that saloon. 

If you will look, you'll see the place, 

It's there across the way; 
My papa leaves me all alone, 

And goes there every day. 

One time we had a pretty home, 
'Twas full of cheer and song; 

But when my papa took to drink. 
We did not keep it long. 



But mamma still would wear a smile, 

Altho her heart was sad; 
She oft recalled the sweet caress, 

That always made her glad. 

One ev'ning she was very sick. 
And when we had no light; 

I heard her say, when papa left, 
"Please don't stay late tonight." 



89 



And as the lonely hours rolled on, 

Angelic songs she hears; 
I looked upon her sad, pale face, 

And could not hide my tears. 

She softly said, "1*11 soon be gone," 

And told me not to cry; 
But when your papa has returned, 

Kiss him for me, good-bye. 

Then peacefully she closed her eyes. 

And with a silent tread; 
The waiting angel crossed the wave. 

And whispered, "She is dead." 



90 



THE SILENT WAY. 

There is a path we all must tread, 
From Earth to endless day; 

A path of gloom, or one of joy. 
We call "The silent way." 

Upon the restless Sea of life, 
Where mystic shadows play; 

We're drifting on, and soon will pass. 
Into "The silent way." 

The grand Elysium of the soul. 

Its beauty will portray; 
While we are singing songs of praise. 

Beyond "The silent way." 

Upon the never failing Arm, 

Our burdens we should lay; 
That we may pass with calm repose. 

Along "The silent way." 

There is a life of sweet content. 

That casts a shining ray; 
Upon the golden garniture, 

That lights "The silent way." 

To Him who guides us thru the storm, 

Our homage we will pay; 
And by and by, we'll be at home. 

Across "The silent way." 



91 



MY BOYHOOD DAYS. 

When I was young and in my prime, 

I always had a good old time; 
I had my fun like other boys, 

Some ups and downs as well as joys; 
But ev'ry one could plainly see, 

Most anything was fun for me; 
So I recall in many ways; 

The jolly times of boyhood days. 

A rabbit hunting I would go, 

When I could track him thru the snow; 
Sometimes when I would take my dog. 

He'd chase him to a hollow log; 
Then quickly I would set about. 

And find a way to get him out; 
So I recall in many ways, 

The jolly times of boyhood days. 

But after I had older grown, 

And much of my wild oats were sown, 
I turned my thoughts to other scenes. 

And rather early in my teens, 
I often went with great delight, 

To see my girl on Sunday night; 
So I recall in many ways, 

The jolly times of boyhood days. 

It always was my father's rule. 

To take me to our Sunday School, 
But even there, I found a way, 

Where, I some little joke could play; 
And tho life's sands are nearly run, 

I'm still inclined to have my fun; 
So I recall in many ways, 

The jolly times of boyhood days. 



92 



MOTHER'S BOY. 

We look upon sad homes today, 
That once were filled with joy; 

And we can see this cruel war, 
Has taken mother's boy. 

When gathered at the festal board. 
She knows he'll not be there; 

Nor will he come at eventide. 
To kneel with her in prayer. 

In midnight dreams he'll come again, 
And in her presence stand; 

She'll look upon his manly form. 
And clasp his welcome hand. 

But when that pleasant dream is past, 
Her boy will not be there; 

Then she will realize he's gone. 
And leaves a vacant chair. 

The mem'ry of his babyhood, 

Is ling'ring with her now; 
And she recalls caresses sweet. 

She pressed upon his brow. 

Altho his country calls for him, 

It's sad to see him go; 
And the real anguish of the heart. 

No one but mothers know. 

Yet for the Stars and Stripes we love. 

This sacrifice she'll make; 
For well she knows her gallant boy, 

Would die for freedom's sake. 

Upon the dreary battle field, 

No service he'll evade; 
And thus his name will be enshrined. 

With wreaths that never fade. 
93 



DAYS GONE BY. 

Afloat upon the Sea of life, 
Where moments swiftly fly, 

We pause upon its drifting tide. 
And think of "days gone by." 

We pass thru life's meand'ring way, 

And often with a sigh. 
We call to mind the friends we knew, 

And loved in "days gone by." 

And while we journey on our way. 

We find new paths to try; 
But in our memory linger still. 

The joy of "days gone by." 

We're carried back to childhood years, 

When all before us lie; 
And we recall in one review, 

The scenes of "days gone by." 

Sometimes the way of life is dark, 
With storm clouds hov'ring nigh; 

'Tis then we feel our loneliness, 
And think of "days gone by." 

And now we wish for brighter days. 
That will our wants supply; 

We long to feel and know again. 
The joy of "days gone by." 

But if we lead a faithful life, 

We'll find a home on high; 
While in our mem'ry still remain. 

The happy "days gone by." 

And in that home where angels sing, 
Sweet songs that never die; 

We'll join with them and there forget, 
The songs of "days gone by." 
94 



THE SLACKERS. 

There are some people in our land, 

That easy ways pursue; 
And when war helpers call for them, 

They've something else to do. 

*Tis said, the course that we pursue, 
Will cause some folks to fuss; 

But, even Red Cross work must lag, 
If it depends on us. 

We know our noble boys have gone. 
To fight with sword and gun; 

And that they need our helping hand, 
But we must have our fun. 

We will observe the Hoover days. 
When we can use no wheat; 

But then there comes another day. 
When women's clubs must meet. 

But there are many of these clubs. 

That do much useful work; 
While others meet for merry games, 

And thus their duty shirk. 

God bless our women folks that work. 
To help some mother's son; 

They'll sacrifice in many things. 
Until this war is won. 

They leave off many household cares. 
Their Red Cross work to do; 

And some have quit their worthless sport, 
And joined the worker's crew. 



95 



As thy patriots they love our flag, 

And loyalty declare; 
And when their noble work is done, 

Their jeweled crows they'll wear. 

But still the slackers hesitate. 
Our country's call to heed; 

And thru their selfish ways neglect, 
The help our soldiers need. 



96 



NATURE'S GRANDEUR. 

I look upon the low'ring sky, 

When stormy clouds are drifting by; 
And then I see them pass away, 

Before the sunlight's searching ray. 
But, if perchance they should remain, 

Till they have brot us needed rain, 
Then I can view the fields of green. 

Where nature's grandeur may be seen. 

And while the seasons come and go, 

I watch the sun-set's ev'ning glow; 
Or see it with its silv'ry gleam. 

Reflected on some quiet stream. 
And thus I find it will portray. 

Its beauty at the close of day. 
And then the thot comes home to me, 

It's nature's grandeur that I see. 

And when night's shadows round me play, 

I turn from other scenes away. 
And o'er the distant plains a-far, 

I watch the fading ev'ning star, 
But when another day I view, 

And sunbeams kiss the morning dew. 
For me rare beauties then unfold. 

And nature's grandeur I behold. 

Beneath the fair and vaulted blue, 

My daily labors, I pursue, 
But when I hear the thunder's roar, 

Like breakers on the ocean shore, 
'Tis then its majesty I see. 

And thots sublime will come to me; 
I hear its sound o'er hill and glen. 

And nature's grandeur see again. 

97 



And everywhere on sea or land, 

We find the work of nature's hand, 
We see it in the light'ning's flash, 

And in the thunder's deaf ning crash, 
In ocean's billows rolling high, 

Or when the rainbow spans the sky, 
When gentle rains or snowflakes fall. 

There's nature's grandeur in it all. 



98 



SOUVENIRS. 

I knew a pleasant rural home. 

With happy inmates there; 
And when the work of day was done. 

They joined in evening prayer. 

The mother now was growing old, 

Her hair was turning gray; 
Her children said, "It won't be long, 

Till mother goes away." 

But she shall have our helping hand, 

Thru her declining years! 
And what she leaves for us, we'll keep. 

As precious souvenirs. 

And soon there comes an Angel band. 

To bear her to the sky; 
Then each one kissed her pallid brow. 

And kindly said good-bye. 

The first suggests she'll only claim, 

One sacred little thing; 
That she may wear while years go by. 

It's mother's wedding ring. 

Says one, a trophy I would keep. 
That's with the trinkets rare; 

And that is just a little lock, 
Of mother's faded hair. 

Another sees the book she wants. 

Is lying on the shelf; 
It's mother's Bible that she loved, 

And precious to myself. 

Then speaks the youngest one of all, 

Who will the relics share; 
And says, there's none more dear to me, 

Than mother's old arm chair. 
99 



WHAT I WOULD BE. 

I'd like to be a lawyer, 

And with him take my stand, 
With money in my pocket, 

A law book in my hand. 
I'd pose before my client, 

And look demurely bright, 
I'd chin for him sweet music, 

But skin him day and night. 

I'd like to be an agent, 

To sell and purchase land, 
And when I saw a bargain, 

I'd always take a hand. 
And I would help the buyer. 

With seeming great delight, 
But when I caught a sucker, 

I'd chouse him day and night. 

I'd like to be a doctor. 

And with him I would stand, 
I'd have a fine diploma, 

And pill bag in my hand. 
A sad look at my patient, 

Would give him such a fright. 
That if he had but colic. 

He'd want me day and night. 

I'd like to be a merchant, 

And with him I would stand. 
Mid calicoes and ginghams, 

With scissors in my hand. 
I'd interest my patrons, 

With pretty goods in sight, 
And how to work the people, 

I'd study day and night. 

100 



IM like to be a preacher, 

And with him take a stand, 
With manuscript before me, 

A Bible in my hand. 
And while old Nick is drifting, 

Our people from the right, 
I'd hit the other churches, 

But touch the Devil light. 

I'd like to run a paper, 

Where I could show my hand. 
By stirring a sensation. 

That none could understand, 
I'm very fond of yarning. 

And have been since my youth, 
I like to tell a whopper, 

And seldom tell the truth. 



101 



NAOMI AND RUTH. 

(Note: — It is suggested by the author that all read care- 
fully the book of Ruth, if not already well acquainted 
with it, and thus be better prepared to appreciate the 
following poem. The book contains only four chapters.) 

Naomi and Elimelech, 

Whose home was near the Sea, 

Would stroll along the garden walks, 
With hearts from sorrow free. 

They had two sons at home with them, 
To manhood they had grown; 

Mahlon and Chilion were names, 
By which the boys were known. 

They looked upon the vine-clad hills. 

Beyond the fields of green; 
When no storm clouds were drifting by. 

To mar the pleasant scene. 

They owned a fruitful vineyard there, 

But famine comes at last; 
And then they fully realize. 

Their cheerful days are past. 

The land of Moab, they have learned, 

Has plenty and to spare; 
So they prepare to go at once. 

And settle over there. 

Soon after they had reached that land, 

Naomi's husband died; 
And for support thru passing years, 

On him she had relied. 

And here the boys both fell in love. 

With two of Moab's girls; 
Their beauty had attracted them, 

With hair of golden curls. 
102 



And from the records left for us, 

We find it is the truth, 
That Chilion married Orpa, 

And Mahlon married Ruth. 

Throughout their happy wedded life, 

Each one the home enjoys; 
But soon death's messenger appears, 

And calls Naomi's boys. 

And thus thru her declining years, 

Much sorrow she has seen; 
And now she longs to see again. 

The land of Palestine. 

For that is her own native home. 
She lived there free from care; 

And now she learns that rains have come, 
When all have plenty there. 

So she resolves that she will go. 

Her old time friends to find; 
The river Jordon she would cross. 

And leave the girls behind. 

They went with her a little way. 

Then in a pleasant tone; 
Naomi said, go back my girls, 

And let me go alone. 

And then she pressed them to her heart. 
And kissed each one good-bye; 

But at the thot of leaving her, 
They could not help but cry. 



103 



They linger at the parting way, 

And tears, unbidden flow; 
They lifted up their voice and wept, 

And Orpa turned to go. 

And then Naomi said to Ruth, 

I see that Orpa's gone; 
Return with her, unto your gods, 

And I will journey on. 

But no, says Ruth, I can not go, 

I must remain with thee; 
And we'll not part before we reach, 

Thy home beyond the Sea. 

I want to meet thy people there, 

And part of them I'd be; 
I wish to look upon the hills. 

That I have longed to see. 

And I will find a work to do, 
Among the friends of thine; 

I'll join with them in songs of praise, 
And thy God shall be mine. 

And naught but death can part us now, 

To thee I will be true; 
And where thou diest, I will die, 

And there be buried too. 

At last Naomi's heart is won. 
She listens to Ruth's plea; 

And says, my daughter do not weep, 
I'll take thee home with me. 

104 



When they arrived at Bethlehem, 

Naomi's heart was sad; 
Soon it was learned that she had come, 

And all her friends were glad. 

We shortly find that Ruth's at work. 

In Boaz's barley crop; 
She gathers up the scattered grain. 

That reapers there would drop. 

When she returned at eventide, 

We hear Naomi say; 
And in her ever pleasant tone, 

Where hast thou gleaned today? 

The romance of Boaz and Ruth, 

May readily be known; 
For in the Bible we will find. 

In detail it is shown. 



105 



OUR OVER-LAND TRIP IN VERSE. 

In eighty-four we started out, 

And in our minds there was no doubt, 
That with our bountiful supply. 

We'd reach old Texas, "bye and bye." 

We slowly journeyed on our way, 
Amid new scen'ry every day, 

And reached, as chapter one has shown. 
The quick sands of the Cimarron. 

There was another river near. 

And we approahced it with some fear. 

'Twas the Canadian near at hand. 

With waters swift, and shifting sand. 

We crossed this stream, and hit the road, 
And traveled forward with our load. 

We stopped to camp one Sabbath day, 
And here our pony got away. 

But I sailed out upon his track. 
Believing I might get him back. 

It was not long until I met, 

A cow-boy bringing back our pet. 

Two chapters tell us how and when. 
Our horse was lost and found again. 

Now all of us were feeling gay, 
And Monday found us on our way. 

I have another tale to tell. 
And one that I remember well. 

Not of the rivers we have crossed. 
But of the time when we were lost. 
106 



About our loneliness there's more, 
As told in chapters three and four. 

Of that dug-out we chanced to sight, 
In which we spent a dreary night. 

Next day we reached the canyon bluif, 
Where we were puzzled sure enough. 

With clouds o'er head and daylight gone, 
There seemed no road to lead us on. 

We felt that there we could not stay, 
And searching further, found our way. 

We reached Hank Smith's and all was well, 
As chapters five and six will tell. 

Now all our weary days were past. 
And Crosby County reached at last. 

I felt that I no more could roam. 

But make the plains my future home. 

At Estacado I could stay. 

And with ambition work my way. 

The many pleasures I could share. 

With mutual friends while living there. 

I witnessed much in many ways. 

From pleasant sport to pistol plays. 

With other things I had to deal. 
As chapter seven will reveal. 

To Lubbock now I plan to go. 

Where other friends I soon will know. 
Together all of us will stand. 

And work for Lubbock heart and hand. 

And by the zeal our people show. 
It will continue still to grow. 

There is no more I need relate. 
For all is found in chapter eight. 
107 



THE TEN MILE ZONE. 

Just now we find the Liquorite, 

With his voracious appetite, 
Would gladly bust the ten-mile law, 

That he might fill his greedy craw. 

This bold device is but a slam, 
Right in the face of Uncle Sam. 

And now to be still more exact. 
It looks just like a traitor^s act. 

And slacker is too mild a word, 
If all is true that I have heard. 

But Lattimore and Ocie Speer, 

These traitors know and well may fear. 

And Cullen F. will take a hand. 
Who will with Mr. Looney stand, 

Then all together they will fight. 

And bravely work for what is right. 

But there's the "Scott-McLean bunch," 
Employed to give the law a punch. 

And thinking of that pile of cash, 
Will do their best the law to smash. 

Now if you fellows knock it out. 
Please tell us what it's all about. 

Is it because you love mankind 
And that a nobler life he'll find? 

Is it because you want to give, 
Our boys, a purer place to live? 

Or is it for the glit'ring gold. 

That manly principles you've sold? 



108 



And since it is your Uncle's plan 
To help the soldiers all he can, 

He deems it best for us to bar, 

The use of whiskey where they are. 

If loyalty you all would show. 
And at the kaiser strike a blow. 

You'd stop your ranting and begin, 
To help, this cruel war to win. 

While thus you strive the laws to break. 
And when your honor is at stake. 

You can regard our sacred flag. 
As nothing but a filthy rag. 



109 



ADAM AND EVE. 

In olden times of long ago, 

When the first man of whom we know, 
Created by a hand expert, 

Was manufactured out of dirt. 

And as the sunny days went by, 
Was put against a post to dry. 

He caught his breath and won his goal, 
And man became a living soul. 

His home was in a pleasant clime, 
But often cold in winter time. 

He had no chum so far as known. 
And Adam had to sleep alone. 

How much he shivered no one knows. 
But many times he nearly froze. 

And now a woman free from fibs. 
Was made from one of Adam's ribs. 

He married her and felt alright, 
For he was always warm at night. 

He did not mind the win'try breeze. 
For now he knew he would not freeze. 

And after Eve became his wife, 

They seemed to lead a happy life. 

And they might eat of fruits they see, 
Excepting that of one lone tree. 

This fruit was pleasing to the eye, 
Yet they were told to pass it by. 

But Satan with his canny smile. 
The fickle woman did beguile. 



110 



And in his cunning way he said: 
"Look at that apple overhead. 

To eat that fruit you have a right, 
So jerk it off and take a bite." 

She tasted it and found it good, 

While Satan there in triumph stood. 

And still she was not satisfied. 
Till Adam had the apple tried. 

And so she called for him in haste. 
She wanted him to have a taste. 

It may be just a little bit. 

But he must have a whack at it. 

He did not stop to count the price, 

And readily he took a slice. 
This proved to be a bitter cup. 

And for them both the jig was up. 

For Eden was a garden fair, 

That they were told to guard with care. 
They walked among the shady trees, 

And did their work with perfect ease. 

And they were cheered along the way, 
With songs of little birds so gay. 

But when they sought that tree to rob. 
They had to hunt another job. 

They failed, the orders to obey. 
And soon they had to get away. 

They ate of fruit that was reserved, 
And each, this punishment deserved. 

They had to leave their Eden home. 

To find another place to roam. 
And plainly saw what they had lost, 
Because they did not count the cost. 

Ill 



CHILDHOOD DREAMS. 

While thru the labyrinthian maze, 

Of life's meandering way, 
We toil along and thus we find. 

Sweet rest at close of day. 
And while we walk thru wooded dells, 

Or by their quiet streams. 
Our thots are often wafted back. 

To childhood's happy dreams. 

The age may bring the wrinkled brow, 

And time his locks of gray. 
We journey on thru changing scenes. 

Along our weary way. 
And while we sit beneath the stars. 

Or Luna's smiling beams. 
We still recall the days of yore, 

And childhood's happy dreams. 

We look upon the silver moon. 

Beyond the Eastern hills, 
And as her majesty we view. 

The heart with rapture thrills, 
And while we sit at eventide. 

Beneath her silent gleams, 
In memory we wander back, 

To childhood's happy dreams. 

We romp among the sylvan hills. 

Or thru the clover fields, 
And gather flowers of the vale. 

That nature's bounty yields. 
And as we journey on thru life. 

But yesterday it seems, 
Since we were boys and girls again. 

Mid childhood's happy dreams. 

112 



JACOB AND RACHEL'S COW. 

The contract made with Rachel's pa, 
To make her Jacob's bride, 

When he had labored seven years. 
Old Laban set aside. 

He said to Jake, "take Leah first," 
And thus he spoiled the trade, 

So Jacob had to keep at work, 
To get the younger maid. 

We read of Rachel as a girl. 

The pride of Jacob's life. 
He worked for Laban fourteen years. 

When she became his wife. 

Tho Jacob owned a fine milch cow, 
She had one naughty trick. 

Sometimes no notice she would give. 
But blaze away and kick. 

This cow, tho treacherous at times, 

Was gentle as a rule. 
So Jake, while he was milking her. 

Would sit upon a stool. 

One night when he was in a rush. 

His choring to complete. 
She kicked the bucket, spilt the milk. 

And knocked him off his seat. 

This "sorter" got his dander up. 
And yet he did not swear, 

But was more watchful of his cow. 
And handled her with care. 

113 



Now, in the land where Jacob lived, 

The flies were often bad. 
And when they lit upon the cow, 

It seemed to make her mad. 

She sometimes used her lengthy tail, 

With very little grace. 
And oft, when switching at the flies. 

She lashed him in the face. 

The way she kicked, and fought the flies. 
Was more than he could stand. 

And said to Rachel, "After this. 
You'll have to take a hand." 

Next morning, when the sun was up. 
They went out with their pail. 

And he sat down to milch the cow. 
While Rachel held her tail. 



IF I WERE YOUNG AGAIN. 

Could I return thru buried years. 

To days of long ago. 
And clasp again the friendly hand. 

Of those I used to know. 
If I could trace the winding streams. 

Where I was wont to stroll, 
I'd strive to lead a nobler life. 

And reach a higher goal, 
"If I were young again." 



114 



Could I go back to boyhood times, 

Where happy days I've seen, 
And wander o'er my native hills, 

Or thru the pastures green. 
If I could sit beneath the stars, 

That deck the azure sky, 
I'd cherish all that's great and good. 

While fleeting years go by, 
"If I were young again." 

If I could lie beneath the shade. 

Of some old apple tree, 
And scent its blossom's sweet perfume. 

That always came to me. 
Could I resume my pleasant walks. 

Where smiling moon-beams play, 
I would refrain from deeds of wrong, 

And seek a better way, 
"If I were young again." 

If I could ramble o'er the fields. 

And all my sports enjoy. 
In chasing rabbits thru the snow. 

When I was but a boy, 
If I could sit beneath the pines. 

And watch the setting sun, 
I'd press toward the shining mark. 

But still would have my fun, 
"If I were young again." 



115 



THE BATTLE FIELD OF FRANCE. 

(Tune — "Beautiful River") 

Shall we gather for the battle, 
On the dreary field of France, 

When we hear the cannon roaring, 
Shall we bravely then advance? 

Chorus. 

Yes we'll gather for the battle. 
The cruel devastating battle. 

Gather with the hosts for the battle, 
On the dreary field of France. 

We'll protect our sacred banner, 
And will proudly bear it on, 

Till the Germans have surrendered 
And autocracy is gone. 

Chorus. 

It shall ever be our object. 
To defeat the fiendish Hun, 

And we'll never cease our fighting. 
Till the victory is won. 

Chorus. 

On to Berlin we are going. 
And our mission thus fulfill. 

While the stars and stripes are floating, 
O'er the home of Kaiser Bill. 

Chorus. 



116 



THE UNSEEN HAND. 

While ev'ning shadows round us play, 

And all is calm and still, 
We listen to the night bird's song, 

Upon the distant hill, 
And whilei the gentle zephyrs blow, 

That come from flower land. 
We feel amazed at nature's work, 

And note the unseen Hand. 

We find It in the murm'ring brook. 

Upon the mountain side, 
And see It in the cataract. 

Or rivers deep and wide. 
It's in the ever-rolling waves, 

That break on ocean's strand. 
And in the onward rushing tide, 

We mark the unseen Hand. 

And when the fragrant flowers bloom, 

That come in early spring, 
The soft winds blowing o'er the hills. 

Their sweet perfume will bring. 
We see the withered rose revive, 

But do not understand. 
The force that brings it into life, 

For it's the unseen Hand. 

And as the flowers fade and die. 

The faithful pass away, 
And look beyond the night of gloom. 

Unto Eternal day. 
Life's fading scenes they leave behind. 

And with an angel band, 
They reach at last the gates of praise. 

Led by the unseen Hand. 

117 



MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

Our boys who face the cannon ball, 

Upon the battle field, 
Will fight beneath the stars and stripes, 

Until the Germans yield. 
They leave their homes and cross the Sea, 

For service over there. 
And gallantly defend our flag, 

Borne up by mother's prayer. 

They never falter in their march, 

Against the cruel Hun, 
But steadily they w^ill advance. 

With bayonet and gun. 
And while the shells are flying fast. 

Or bursting in the air, 
They'll think of loves ones left behind. 

And of their mother's prayer. 

They do not stop to count the cost. 

With Freedom's cause at stake. 
Thus every needed sacrifice. 

They cheerfully will make. 
While in the clash of bayonets, 

The fate of comrades share, 
In many homes that wait for them. 

Is heard the mother's prayer. 

God bless the noble soldier boy, 

Engaged in deadly strife, 
Who, in defense of liberty. 

Will freely give his life. 
And while he's in a foreign land. 

Away from mother's care. 
He knows that in her lonely home, 

She pleads for him in prayer. 

118 



GERMANS VS. SAMMIES. 

(Tune — "Yankee Doodle.") 

We'll shoulder arms and lick the Huns, 
And give them such a roasting, 

That they will yell, **We've got enough," 
And then may stop their boasting. 

Chorus. 

WeVe got the Germans on the run, 
They will not face the Sammies, 

When they have on their fighting clothes. 
Instead of their pajamas. 

Our boys have reached the western front, 
The Huns to meet and master. 

And every time they stage a fight, 
The varmints meet disaster. 

Chorus. 

And when the Sammies press the foe, 
They're brought into subjection, 

When all turn tail and hunt their holes. 
Where they may have protection. 

Chorus. 

The Yanks put up a brilliant fight. 
That will the Germans dazzle, 

And they'll keep on until at last, 
They'll lick 'em to a frazzle. 

Chorus. 



119 



OUR SOLDIER BOY. 

Acrostic — Read downward the first letter in each line. 

Thru the night so lone and dreary, 
He is thinking of his loved ones, 
Enemies are waiting near him, 

During lulls of giant guns. 
Every thot of home and mother. 
Vests him with cheer in battle strife. 
Lingering with him thru the trenches. 
In them he would give his life. 
Softly let us sing his dirges, 
Honoring him with lips of praise, 

Kaiser Bill must soon surrender, 
And in Berlin our flag we'll raise. 
In the midst of roaring cannon, 
Songs of cheering may be heard. 
Every soldier boy is waiting, 
Ready for the captain's word. 

Bravely on the field of slaughter, 
In the ranks of soldiers true. 
Let our nation's flag be waving. 
Lastly licking Huns in view. 



120 



OUR FLAG IN THE CHURCH. 

We notice in the M. E. Church, 

The flag that we revere, 
And one that everywhere is held, 

By patriots so dear. 

It would appear more beautiful, 

If waving in the air, 
It does not float upon the breeze, 

But hangs in silence there. 

Tho quiet in its grand display. 
Its meaning thus we know. 

It always stands for liberty, 
Wherever it may go. 

And it is called in every land. 

An emblem of the free, 
It's borne across the mighty deep. 

And waves beyond the Sea. 

It's on the battle front today. 

Upheld by soldiers brave. 
And they will freely give their lives, 

The Stars and Stripes to save. 

Altho the Germans hate our flag, 
And fight with greed and lust, 

The Huns will never be allowed. 
To trail it in the dust. 

And as a symbol of the brave. 

It's known in every land. 
Upon the islands of the sea, 

And on the ocean's strand. 

God grant it may in triumph wave. 

Unscathed in every raid. 
That thru the strife on battle fields, 

It's glory may not fade. 
121 



OUR LITTLE FOLKS. 

Six little girls to have some fun, 

Met on a grassy slope. 
They played awhile at hide-and-seek, 

And then they jumped the rope. 

But bye-and-bye, they all sat down. 
When they were tired of play, 

To talk about their cozy homes, 
And each one had her say. 

First. 

My home is on the mountain side. 

Among the evergreens, 
And where sweet songs of little birdi. 

Add to the cheerful scenes. 

Second. 

My home is in a pleasant vale, 
Where gentle streamlets flow. 

While sunbeams kiss the morning dew. 
And fragrant flowers grow. 

Third. 

I have a home among the hills, 
Where rippling fountains play, 

Along our paths sweet flowers grow. 
And bloom in early May. 



122 



Fourth. 

I live among the lofty pines, 

Nearby a mountain lake, 
Where feathered songsters in the trees. 

Their merry music make. 

Fifth. 

I'm living near the ocean shore, 
That has its charms for me. 

And many times my home is called, 
The cottage by the Sea. 

Sixth. 

I have a little humble home, 

But happiness is there. 
And when the work of day is done. 

We join in ev'ning prayer. 



123 



THE PRODIGAL SON. 

(Luke 15: 11-24.) 
Eead the Parable carefully. 

Upon the Plains of Palestine, 

In years of long ago, 
We learn of two boys living there. 

Whose names we do not know. 

The younger was dissatisfied. 
With the restraints of home. 

And had a longing to be free, 
Li foreign lands to roam. 

And to his anxious father says, 

I can no longer stay. 
Give me my portion of the goods. 

And let me go away. 

With much regret the father yields, 

And values the estate. 
He gives the younger what is due, 

And leaves him to his fate. 

But yet his mother says to him, 

I wish you would not go. 
On you, tho leaving home and friends. 

My blessings I bestow. 

I trust that you'll remember me, 

When in a distant land, 
And that in teaching you to walk, 

I lent a helping hand. 



124 



Your mother never can forget, 
The little prayers youVe said, 

Before she lay you down to sleep, 
Upon your trundle-bed. 

I want to kiss my boy once more, 

Before we have to part. 
And then caressing him again, 

She pressed him to her heart. 

The boy is now prepared to go, 
And speaks his last good-bye. 

He wandered to a foreign land. 
For new-found friends to try. 

They see the handsome suit he wears. 

That he has money too, 
And many gather round the boy. 

With rioting in view. 

He finds his clothes are wearing out. 

But still he revels on. 
And soon begins to realize, 

That all his means are gone. 

Tho he is sad and hungry now, 

To help him all decline, 
And nothing he can find to do. 

But work among the swine. 

And in his troubled dreams he hears. 
The words of "Home Sweet Home," 

And then the thot occurs him. 
Why did I ever roam? 



125 



But I'll go back to father's house, 
Where there is bread for me, 

Not worthy to be called his son. 
His servant I will be. 

The boy, returning sad and wan, 
His father does not spurn, 

But greets him with a fond embrace. 
And welcomes his return. 

And thus the great Jehovah's voice. 

In accent pure and mild, 
Calls out to each repentant one, 

"Come home my wand'ring child." 



126 



THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL. 

Good-bye sweetheart, I'm off for France, 
And soon will cross the Sea. 

I only ask, when I am gone, 
That you'll remember me. 

We've met each other many times. 

In sunshine and in shade. 
And may we treasure in our hearts, 

The pledges we have made. 

How often we have sought the shade, 

Of some old apple tree. 
And talked of happy days to come, 

That wait for you and me. 

WeVe sat beneath its spreading boughs, 
And heard the rus'ling leaves. 

Where we have watched the ev'ning star. 
On pleasant summer eves. 

While ling'ring in the mellow light. 

Of Luna's smiling beams, 
That we would have a cottage home. 

Has been our fondest dreams. 

We've listened to the nightingale. 

When singing in the trees, 
While sweet perfume from flow'ry land, 

Was borne on every breeze. 

But now my country calls for me, 
- And we must say good-bye, 
Perhaps we may not meet again, 
But darling do not cry. 



127 



I trust, when I am far away, 

That you may still be true. 
And when I hear the bugle call. 

My thots will turn to you. 

I'll call to mind the happy days. 

Before we had to part, 
And when, beneath the silent stars, 

IVe pressed you to my heart. 

I know you will be proud of me, 

If I should bravely stand, 
And fight beneath the Stars and Stripes, 

That float in ev'ry land. 

But now, as I am leaving you, 

'Tis sad to say good-bye, 
Yet with us still sweet thots remain. 

That true love can not die. 



128 



OUR LADY VOTERS. 

I sat upon the court house steps, 

On last election day, 
And watched the adults going in, 

To stow their votes away. 

Some men moved up in single file, 

And quietly would pass, 
While women folks came in gn:*eat crowds. 

And marched along enmass. 

Some looked to be but sweet sixteen, 

Instead of twenty-one, 
You'd think, from pleasant smiles they wore. 

That they enjoyed the fun. 

There were old maids of twenty-five, 

And some perhaps were more, 
And all of them looked pretty too. 

Like those who went before. 

Good looking widows in the bunch, 

All helped the ranks to swell. 
And with the ballot in their hands. 

They did their duty well. 

I saw old men with locks of gray. 

Come forward with their wives, 
When these good women cast a vote 

The first time in their lives. 

And while I sat there in the shade, 

It was a cheerful sight. 
To see them gathering at the polls. 

And voting for the right. 

Thfey did some noble work that day. 

And with the help of men. 
They buried Ferguson so deep. 

He'll never rise again. 

129 



tHE BEAUTIFUL "BY-AND-BY" 

The faithful pilgrim on his way, 

May find new trials ev'ry day. 
But while the tempests round him roll, 

There's hope to buoy up the soul. 
When, from life's struggles he is free, 

He drifts toward the silent Sea, 
And stems the tide without a sigh, 

To the beautiful "By-and-By." 

He looks beyond this world of care, 

To joy that waits him over there. 
Life's burdens he will cast aside. 

And launch upon the drifting tide. 
In triumph he will ever stand. 

When led by God's unfailing hand, 
And thus will find a home on high. 

In the beautiful "By-and-By." 

Life's fading scenes he leaves behind. 

When he a fairer home will find, 
And while his Savior goes before, 

Will anchor on the other shore. 
Where he will meet an angel throng. 

And join in everlasting song, 
For filial love will never die, 

In the beautiful "By-and-By." 

He'll live while endless years go by, 

Prepared for mansions in the sky. 
And sing a-new from trials free. 

Sweet songs beyond the Crystal Sea. 
How sweet the thot to keep in mind. 

That we our Savior there will find. 
And sing with angels hov'ring nigh. 

In the beautiful "By-and-By." 

130 



THE YANKS AT BERLIN. 

Will you walk into my parlor, 

Said Kaiser to the Yanks. 
It is the finest place youVe seen, 

Where I have cut my pranks. 

And I have many pretty things, 
To show when you are there. 

So come and make yourselves at home. 
And use the Kaiser's chair. 

YouVe got us badly licked at last, 

And we must give it up, 
We'll have to take what comes to us, 

Altho a bitter cup. 

We had the devil on our side. 
For nothing we were blamed. 

He did some gallant work for us. 
Until he got ashamed. 

And then we had to fight alone, 

Without his helping hand, 
Before your guns and bayonets, 

Our soldiers could not stand. 

The Yanks then said to Kaiser Bill, 
Who could not stay the tide, 

That we determined to rush on. 
Until we got your hide. 

Upon your name thru coming years. 
Just contempt will be hurled. 

And you will stand before mankind. 
Despised by all the world. 

Hereafter there will be no place. 
Where you can hide your sin. 

The devil is ashamed of you. 
And will not take you in. 

131 



ONLY A DREAM. 

In midnight dreams I often see, 

The home that once had sheltered me. 
I see sweet flowers blooming there, 

Where they are watched with tender care, 
And hear the hum of honey bees, 

That swarm among the cherry trees. 
And thru the woodland I will go, 

Where hick'ry nuts and walnuts grow, 
Or wander o'er the pastures green. 

Where morning glories may be seen, 
One night my girl I went to see. 

To take her to a spelling bee. 
But when I asked if she would go. 

She very plainly told me no. 
And so things are not what they seem. 

For all this, only was a dream. 

I walked across the field one day. 

To help the boys while making hay. 
I looked around and I could see, 

A Texas steer was after me. 
There was a high board fence in sight, 

To it I ran with all my might, 
The steer came nearer all the time, 

But nov7 the fence I could not climb. 
With all the efforts I would make. 

One single step I could not take. 
And I could hardly get my breath, 

For I was nearly scared to death. 
And while I tried to make advance. 

With his long horns he ripped my pants. 
And then I waked up with a scream. 

To find it only was a dream. 



132 



WHEN MOTHER GOES AWAY. 

Upon the silent stream of life, 
She's drifting on each day; 

And there'll be many falling tears, 
When mother goes away. 

We will be lonely in our homes, 
Where she was wont to stay; 

For we shall see a vacant chair, 
When mother goes away. 

We'll think about the cheerful things, 
That we have heard her say; 

And they will linger in our hearts. 
When mother goes away. 

Altho, she now is growing old, 
Her heart seems young and gay; 

And we'll recall those cheerful smiles. 
When mother goes away. 

To her, while in declining years. 

Our homage we will pay; 
And pleasant mem'ries will remain, 

When mother goes away. 

Amid life's evanescent scenes. 
Whose beauties round us play; 

We'll catch sweet echoes of her songs. 
When mother goes away. 

While she remains to cheer our hearts, 

Her precepts we'll obey; 
And thus will lead a faithful life. 

When mother goes away. 

We'll strive to reach that happy land, 
Where all are free from care; 

To keep the faith when mother's gone. 
And meet her over there. 

133 



TRUE GREATNESS. 

It's not the man of landed wealth, 

That fades with passing time, 
Nor in the hoarding of his gold, 

That makes his name sublime. 
But he that humbly walks thru life. 

And always keeps in mind, 
That in forgetfulness of self. 

True greatness we will find. 

'Tis not the erudite who tries, 

To scale the heights of fame. 
That he may hear in eulogy, 

The plaudits of his name. 
But rather one with noble deeds, 

And kindness in his mien. 
That in his willing sacrifice, 

True greatness may be seen. 

Tis not the man who courts the praise. 

Of those with whom he lives. 
Who turns the weary from his door. 

Yet boasts of what he gives. 
But he who lends a helping hand, 

And looks to other's needs. 
In all his services may be seen. 

True greatness of his deeds. 

'Tis not the man with gilded dome. 

Nor raiment he may wear. 
That gives a potent tinge of worth. 

To fruits that he may bear. 
But it's the man with humble ways. 

Where ever he may be, 
That in his proffered aid to all. 

True greatness we can see. 
♦ 
134 



MELON COLIC DAYS. 

The melon colic days have come, 

The finest of the year, ^;,'v;' 

When watermelons are in stock, '^^iv 

And Autumn months are here. 
We love to eat this juicy fruit. 

But we must watch our ways 
Or we will likely take too much. 

These "Melon Colic Days." 

Also, in eating cantaloupes, 

We should precaution take, 
Else we must call the doctor in. 

To stop the stomach ache. 
We see our little boys and girls. 

Will quickly end their plays. 
To tackle a big rocky ford, 

These **Melon Colic Days." 

They know not what is best for them. 

Nor little seem to care. 
If they can all be satisfied, 

While each one gets his share. 
They eat while watermelons last. 

And yet it never pays, 
To keep on till their stomachs hurt, 

These "Melon Colic Days." 

When I was but a little boy. 

For melons I would go. 
The patch was planted in our field. 

That I so well did know. 
I'4 sit down in some shady place. 

Or take the sun's hot rays. 
And eat enough to make me sick. 

These "Melon Colic Days." 



135 



THAT MISSIONARY DINNER IN THE M. E. 
CHURCH. 

There was a dinner in the church, 

Prepared with skillful care, 
And thru the courtesy of some, 

I was invited there. 

It was on Missionary day, 

We had this dinner rare. 
And standing, all the ladies ate 

But I sat in a chair. 

And thus, while we enjoyed the feast, 

Each one could plainly see, 
That I looked up to women folks. 

And they looked down on me. 

Fried chicken was a choice dish. 

No one could pass it by, 
And next to this of what was there. 

The best was pumpkin pie. 

There were two other kinds of pie, 

And each appealed to me. 
With hot rolls, and with salad too, 

We drank our ice cold tea. 

Now, this was one of many feasts, 
That Lubbock women make, 

And always when I have a chance, 
Of them I will partake. 

The delegates from other parts, 

Met with our ladies here, 
And now the meal they had prepared. 

Was eaten with good cheer. 

I shook hands with the preachers there, 

With many women too. 
Who, always in their social work. 

Excel in all they do. 

186 



GOD DOETH ALL THINGS WELL. 

Amid the changing scenes of life, 

Wrought by the unseen hand, 
The mysteries of life and death. 

We can not understand. 
And why the useful life goes out, 

No one can ever tell, 
But we should ever bear in mind, 

"God doeth all things well." 

The hand of death that marks his prey, 

Brings sorrow to the heart, 
When happy homes are broken up. 

And loved ones called to part. 
But all the sadness turns to joy. 

And hearts with rapture swell, 
When we remember in our grief, 

"God doeth all things well." 

The voyager thru smiles and tears. 

With faith to lead the way. 
Will pass beyond the night of gloom, 

And reach eternal day. 
The faith that buoys up his soul. 

Will darkest hours dispel, 
And he will feel as life departs, 

"God doeth all things well." 

The faithful pilgrim passing on, 

A-drift with fleeting years. 
Will reach at last his happy home, 

Beyond this veil of tears. 
And drifting to the land of rest. 

Where souls enraptured dwell, 
Will whisper with his latest breath, 

"God doeth all things well." 

137 



WILL OUR BOYS RETURN? 

Our thots are on the battle field, 

Beyond the restless waves, 
Where many of our gallant sons. 

Will find their lonely graves. 

And while the days and weeks go by. 
Our hearts with sadness burn, 

For well we know our precious boys, 
To us may not return. 

The silent stars that deck the sky. 

The sighing winds we hear, 
All bring to us a solemn thot. 

Of those we held so dear. 

We guarded them thru boyhood years, 

And love them now as then, 
But those who pass beyond the Sea, 

May not return again. 

When ev'ning twilight fades from view. 
And marks the close of day. 

We then recall their cheerful words. 
Before they went away. 

Now loneliness pervades our homes. 

Because of absent ones, 
But they will bravely stand or fall. 

While bat'ling with the Huns. 

They will defend the Stars and Stripes, 

As patriotic men. 
And tell us of heroic deeds. 

If they come back again. 

They will, upon the battle front. 

Unfading laurels earn. 
Then we should stay the falling tear. 

And hope for their return. 

138 



BUTTIN' IN 

There is a nameless malady, 

But one that is well known, 
For in the acts of many folks, 

It's very plainly shown. 
WeVe seen it all along the line. 

Where ever we have been, 
And as we have no better name, 

We'll call it, "Buttin' In." 

Now what is meant by such a term. 

Most people understand, 
And in the working of this game, 

Some often take a hand. 
While parties talk of what they'll do. 

These fellows then begin, 
To tell about a better way, 

And this is "Buttin' In." 

Some times we map a program out. 

And lay our plans ahead. 
But many times they are upset. 

By what someone has said. 
While it's a failing many have. 

It may not be a sin, 
And yet it seems somewhat uncouth. 

To be thus "Buttin' In." 

Then, erring ones, hear this advice, 

And guard yourselves with care. 
That you may not put in your gab. 

When none of your affair. 
Oft times the idle words you speak. 

Result in much chagrin, 
And if you would command respect. 

Just quit your "Buttin' In." 

139 



MARCHING ON 

The allied hosts will soon begin, 

Their rapid march towards Berlin. 
They'll rush along without delay, 

And strike the Germans on the way. 
They'll sing, "My Country, 'Tis of Thee," 

With other songs of liberty, 
And when the Huns from France are gone. 

In triumph will, go "Marching On." 

Their leader will not call them back. 

While they are on the Kaiser's track. 
For he himself enjoys the fun, 

And likes to see the traitors run. 
Our boys are pressing on with pride, 

And Germans cannot stay the tide. 
Of lasting peace, we see the dawn, 

With all the Allies, "Marching On." 

For Willie now the jig is up. 

And he must drink the bitter cup. 
He'll feel the chills creep down his spine, 

When our brave men have crossed the Rhine. 
And from hand writing on the wall. 

He knows Berlin is doomed to fall. 
And with his pale face sad and wan, 

He sees our soldiers "Marching On." 

Once in his dreams there were unfurled. 

The visions of a conquered world. 
But now he finds with deep regret, 

That all his plans have been upset. 
The proffered terms he must obey. 

And do just what the Allies say. 
Until his proud ambition's gone, 

Our brave boys will go "Marching On." 

140 



SOLDIERS' REVERIES 

Our boys who leave their native land, 

To fight beyond the sea; 
Will meet their fate without a sigh, 

What ever that may be. 

But there is still one cheerful thot, 

For them to keep in mind; 
They'll be remembered in the prayers 

Of loved ones left behind. 

One thinks of his New Hampshire home, 

Among the sylvan hills; 
About the sparkling mountain streams, 

And of the placid rills. 

Another of the Texas Plains, 

And of the parting day; 
With those he loves and mingled with. 

Before he went away. 

And one, in fancy views again. 

His home in Tennessee; 
Where he has gathered luscious fruit, 

From some old apple tree. 

The boy who left his Utah home, 

For service over there; 
Will think about his boyhood years. 

And of his mother's care. 

One thinks about his happy home, 

'Mid Colorado scenes; 
Of quiet streams and mountain lakes. 

Among the ever greens. 

But all look forward to the day, 
When battle strife shall cease; 

And thru their victory in arms, 
Will catch the dawn of peace. 

141 



THE SILVER LINING 

Amid the somber shades of night, 

Where lights are dimly burning, 
We look towards the morning dawn, 

For brighter lights returning. 
The way of life is often dark, 

When sad hearts are repining, 
And yet behind the murky cloud. 

There is "The Silver Lining." 

We sometimes find while passing on, 

A journey sad and dreary, 
And as we meet our many trials. 

The heart is often weary. 
Tho life may seem a desert waste, 

While it is fast declining. 
But when the mists have cleared away. 

We see "The Silver Lining." 

While happy at the dawn of day. 

The night may bring us sadness. 
And then we long for cheerful smiles. 

That fill our hearts with gladness. 
And thus we find along life's way. 

Are smiles and tears combining. 
But still behind the darkest cloud. 

Is seen "The Silver Lining." 

Our days are fleeting as the dew. 

And often filled with sorrow. 
But for one's life that ends in peace, 

There is a bright tomorrow. 
And passing to the pearly gates, 

Where Heaven's light is shining. 
He drifts beyond the starless night. 

And views "The Silver Lining." 

142 



PLEASANT DREAMS 

When twilight fades and darkness comes, 

Inviting to repose, 
While shades of night around us play, 

Our eyes in slumber close, 
And into dreamland as we pass. 

But yesterday it seems, 
Since we were boys and girls at play. 

As seen, in "Pleasant Dreams." 

We stroll among our native hills. 

And gather flowers there. 
While cheering songs of little birds. 

With music fill the air. 
We wander thru the fields of green, 

Or by the winding streams. 
And thus the scenes of bygone years. 

Are shown in, "Pleasant Dreams." 

We sit around a blazing fire, 

Free from the win'try breeze. 
But seek the shade in the summer time. 

Among the apple trees. 
We watch the moonlight shadows play. 

Beneath her smiling beams, 
And all these happy times return. 

To us, in "Pleasant Dreams." 

We gather round the vine clad trees. 

That beautified our home. 
And wander thru the clover fields. 

Where we were wont to roam. 
We walk again among the hills. 

Or by the quiet streams. 
And we review the joys of youth. 

In many "Pleasant Dreams." 



143 



OUR NATION'S FLAG 

We view with pride the Stars and Stripes, 

When floating in the air; 
The flag that cheered our soldier boys, 

In service over there. 

It's planted on the battle field, 
And watched with anxious care; 

It brings enthusiastic cheers, 
To see it waving there. 

It proudly floats in foreign lands, 

An emblem of the free; 
Its well known ensign recognized. 

On islands of the sea. 

It stands for justice everywhere. 

For nations great or small; 
Tho crowns may wither in its wake, 

And mighty monarchs fall. 

It stands for righteous principles. 
And good will for the world; 

It brings inspiring thoughts to all, 
Wherever it's unfurled. 

The soldier loves his nation's flag, 

And cheerfully enrolls; 
He stands or falls in its defense, 

Beneath its spacious folds. 

Long it will live a priceless gem. 

For patriotic hearts; 
That to the millions yet to come, 
Its blessing may impart. 

In splendor let it ever wave. 

Without a star erased; 
Nor may we find in future years, 

A single stripe effaced. 

144 



WHEN I AM OLD 

I look upon his manly form, 

His dark and curly hair, 
Since I've been chosen as his bride. 

With him, life's joys to share. 
And his affections I have won. 

Worth more to me than gold, 
For he has promised to be true. 

And love me ''When I'm Old." 

I'll journey on thru passing years, 

With his strong arm for aid, 
And will be happy all the way, 

With faith in vows he's made. 
To us, amid life's changing scenes. 

The future is untold. 
But he will share its smiles or tears. 

And love me "When I'm Old." 

We'll sit beneath the silent stars, 

When twilight fades from view. 
And while we wait together there, 

Will pledge our love anew. 
And, wand'ring thru the flow'ry vales, 

Where nature's gifts unfold. 
He'll, vow to keep his plighted word. 

And love me "When I'm Old." 

We'll stroll along the garden walks, 

Where fragrant flowers grow, 
Thru valleys that are clothed in green, 

And gentle streamlets flow. 
The fervent love he holds for me, 

I trust will not grow cold. 
That he'll be faithful to the last. 

And love me "When I'm Old." 



145 



Tho time may bring us many trials, 

And age his locks of gray, 
Yet we'll be happy as we walk, 

Along life's weary way. 
While we are drifting to its close, 

New beauties we behold, 
He will be constant in his trust. 

And love me "When I'm Old." 



LIFE'S CONTRASTS 

We see a grand palacious home. 

Built by the millionaire. 
With gilded dome and frescoed walls, 

Prepared with skillful care. 

Tho beautiful to look upon. 

We find indif'rence there. 
Where true devotion is unknown, 

And joyous notes are rare. 

For in that mansion where he dwells. 

Affection has grown cold. 
And all thru life, his mission is. 

To gather in the gold. 

His family ties are naught to him. 

Absorbed in business care. 
And going home at even-tide, 

A servant greets him there. 

146 



Again we see the modest home, 

With blessings to bestow, 
Where ivy vines creep on the walls, 

And climbing roses grow. 

While birds are singing in the trees, 
The children romp in play; 

With love and laughter in their songs, 
They spend a happy day. 

The man who owns this domicile, 

An honest living earns, 
He leaves it at the dawn of day, 

And at its close returns. 

His little ones will scamper forth. 

To meet him on his way. 
He takes them up into his arms. 

And joins with them in play. 

With happy thots, he homeward goes. 

And in his humble state, 
A patient woman with a kiss, 

Will greet him at the gate. 

Thus, in that cheerful cottage home. 

Inmates await his call, 
But who will meet the Millionaire? 

A servant. That is all. 



147 



OUR SOLDIERS' NATIVE LAND 

Our brave boys in the land of France, 
Where they have faced the foe, 

Are waiting for the day to come, 
When they may homeward go. 

The Huns they met in battle strife. 
No more can make their stand, 

And they will sail across the sea. 
Toward "Their Native Land." 

They'll sadly think of fallen ones, 

Who did their triumph share. 
While some survived the shot and shell. 

They sleep in silence there. 
No more they'll hear the bugle call. 

Nor clasp a comrade's hand. 
But calmly rest in lonely graves. 

Far from "Their Native Land." 

They leave them in a foreign clime. 

And speak their last good-bye, 
Who in defense of freedom's cause. 

Were not afraid to die. 
And aching hearts will wait in vain, 

For this heroic band, 
As they will not return again, 

To view "Their native land." 

Thus many broken homes will mourn. 

For loved ones over there. 
And they will look with falling tears. 

Upon each vacant chair. 
They sleep beneath the azure sky, 

Beyond the ocean strand. 
And they no more will cross the wave. 

To see "Their Native Land." 

148 



THE CONQUERED FOE 

'Tis human nature to avenge, 

The brutal deeds of Huns, 
Who now have met their Waterloo, 

By Allies* giant guns. 
But many who recount their wrongs, 

Would little mercy show, 
But hold resentment in their hearts. 

Toward "The Conquered Foe." 

To those who would retaliate, 

The word revenge is sweet, 
But charity should now prevail. 

Since they admit defeat. 
They have been humbled in their pride. 

Their vaunting had to go, 
And we should show compassion now, 

Toward "The Conquered Foe." 

Vengeance is mine, I will repay. 

Said He of Bethlehem, 
And to the judgment seat of God, 

His wrath will follow them. 
But even in a Christian land. 

The most of us must know, 
'Tis hard to palliate their wrongs. 

And help "The Conquered Foe." 

And yet it is a Christian trait. 

To harbor in the soul, 
No hatred for the vanquished Huns, 

Who failed to reach their goal. 
We may condone, tho not forget. 

But should no malice show. 
And still extend an open hand. 

To help "The Conquered Foe." 

149 



JOAN OF ARC 

As an introduction to the poem that follows, the 
writer deems it proper to present this brief biographical 
sketch. 

Joan of Arc, an unlearned peasant girl of France, 
was bom at Demremy, in the year 1411. She was also 
known as Geanne D' Arc. Her father, Jaques, her one 
sister and three brothers, were called by the name of 
D' Arc. She was a shepherdess, and with her sister and 
brothers, looked after her father's flocks, but was deep- 
ly interested in the welfare of her country. 

Early in her teens, she seems to have been inspired 
by a higher power, to serve France as a warrior, and 
listened to the voice of an angel to direct her in her 
course, but every one felt that she was visionary, and 
many looked upon her as a witch, and a child of Satan. 
She had a lovable disposition, and a sympathetic heart. 
Through the treachery of Queen Isabel and the Duke of 
Burgundy, a treaty was made, by which France was be- 
trayed into the hands of England, and was brought under 
her sovereignty. This aroused the indignation of Joan, 
and she resolved to set her homeland free. The armies 
of France were cowed and demoralized. The King dis- 
inherited, was discouraged and indifferent, but in spite 
of all opposition, she succeeded in raising an army which 
she led victoriously to Orleans, and lifted the siege that 
had been maintained by the English and Burgundians 
for nearly seven months. After this brilliant victory, her 
greatest ambition was to crown her King at the city of 
Rheims, which she did a few months later. 

She was captured by the enemies of France, turned 
over to the English, who, after the pretense of a trial, 
convicted her as an heretic, and burned her alive at the 
stake, in 1431, when she was only twenty years old. Her 
life with the records of these events, furnish the most 

150 



unique history of the world, as well as the most interest- 
ing of all succeeding ages, save one, "The Babe of 
Bethlehem." 

Joan of Arc, a peasant girl, 

Could neither read nor write, 
Yet at the age of seventeen. 

Became a gallant Knight. 

To learn as many modem girls, 

She did not have the chance. 
But loved to watch her father's flocks, 

Among the hills of France. 

To gather flowers in the vale, 

That she might always find, 
And make bouquets for little friends, 

Would fill her youthful mind. 

But visions of her great renown. 

To her were all unknown. 
And how the millions yet unborn. 

Would claim her as their own. 

Her kind and sympathetic heart. 

Was often filled with grief; 
She dearly loved her native land. 

And longed to give relief. 

Thus, very early in her teens, 
With faith that God would aid. 

She made a vow to crush the foe. 
And all her plans were laid. 

She would go forth in armor clad, 

Her enemies to meet, 
And lead a band with hopes renewed. 

To compass their defeat. 
151 



She listened to the angels voice, 

That taught her what to do, 
And with unfailing trust she learned. 

The course she should pursue. 

But many great men said of her, 

She's nothing but a child. 
And is deceived about her call, 

With fancies vague and wild. 

And while she begged to see the king, 

His sanction to obtain, 
And give her valiant men to lead. 

Her pleading seemed in vain. 

At last he jrields and soldiers call. 

And now she hears him say. 
Supreme commander you shall be. 

And always lead the way. 

She mounts her steed with flaming sword, 

And waves it in the air. 
Then shouts for all to follow her, 

And in her triumph share. 

Her banner floats above her head. 

That all may plainly see. 
The siege of Orleans she will raise. 

And set her people free. 

She now is offered great reward, 

For noble work she's done, 
For daring deeds in leading men. 

And for the battles won. 

She says, but one thing I will ask. 

That occupies my dreams, 
I wish to go without delay, 

And crown the king at Rheims. 't 

152 



ESTACADO'S EARLY DAYS 

How oft our fancy takes us back, 
Along life's well remembered track, 

Thru buried years, to long ago, 

And greet old friends we used to know. 

Thus, pleasant memory remains. 

Of Estacado on the plains, 
Where we would share each others joys, 

From old folks, down to girls and boys. 

We also found, these early days. 
Brought trials to us in many ways, 

Provisions were so far away, 

That some were short most any day. 

O'er Colorado's sandy roads. 

We often passed with four-horse loads, 
Sometimes we had steep hills to climb. 

And we would double teams each time. 

Upon the ground we made our bed, 
When stars were twinkling overhead. 

And we would spend a cheerful night. 
Beneath fair Luna's mellow light. 

Much needed goods, we must obtain. 
And often went thru mud and rain, 

When we were short on things to eat, 
We neither stopped for snow nor sleet. 

And some would start without delay. 
With grub to eat while on the way, 

And thru the snow or summer rains, 
We made these trips upon the plains. 



153 



We often went for loads of wood, 

And always camped where grass was good, 

We sometimes took a steak to fry, 
Some coffee, cakes and apple pie. 

And we would sit awhile at night, 
Around a fire warm and bright, 

About our camp when it was dark. 
We plainly heard the coyotes bark. 

Also the antelope and deer. 

Would very often venture near, 
While moving round to get a gun. 

They always started on a run. 

In passing over Texas plains, 

Thru solitudes where silence reigns, 

It often gave us great delight, 

To watch wild horses in their flight. 

And where the farmers ought to be, 
Wild game was all that we could see. 

Till Quakers came for honest toil, 
There was no one to till the soil. 

In picnics of our loyal band. 

Every one would take a hand, 
And thus we found that in this way. 

We always spent a pleasant day. 

But now those happy times are gone. 
While fleeting years go rolling on, 

And till life's pilgrimage is o'er. 

We'll not forget those days of yore. 



154 



IN TIME, OR TOO LATE? 

How many wanderers we see, 

Along the paths of sin, 
Who carelessly drift from the right, 

And evil ways begin. 
Neglecting to obtain the crown, 

To all a priceless gem, 
Sublime realities of life, 

Does not appeal to them. 
One follows in forbidden paths. 

Regardless of the cost, 
Until perchance the Spirit calls. 

And tells him he is lost. 
He then to God in anguish cries, 

"Forgive me for my crime," 
And now Jehovah answers back, 

"Thou art in Time. In Time." 

And yet we see the thotless one. 

Still drifting with the tide. 
And from the straight and narrow way, 

He seems to turn aside. 
In revelry he wanders on. 

Till he is doomed to fall, 
For, while the Spirit speaks to him. 

He does not heed its call. 
And thus thruout his pilgrimage. 

He keeps his evil course. 
Until the gath'ring gloom of death, 

Has brot to him remorse. 
His God whom he has spumed thru life. 

Now leaves him to his fate. 
He hears the devil laugh and say, 

"Hah-hah. Too Late. Too Late." 



155 



SOME TIME WE'LL UNDERSTAND 

Our hearts are sad when loved ones pass, 

Beyond this vale of tears, 
And leave for us our broken homes. 

Thru many lonely years. 
And why we thus are called to part, 

Unlike what we had planned, 
The mystery that shrouds the mind, 

"Some Time, We'll Understand." 

The father leaves his little ones, 

To mother's love and care. 
He drifts across the silent Sea, 

And leaves a vacant chair. 
We often wonder at this loss, 

Brot by the unseen Hand, 
And then the thought comes home to us, 

"Some Time, We'll Understand." 

As voyagers along life's way. 

We find our griefs to bear. 
But, if we place our trust in God, 

Our sorrows He will share, 
And yet we do not comprehend. 

The Master's wise command, 
His ways, tho hidden from us now, 

"Some Time, We'll Understand." 

And as we journey on thru life. 

It's not for us to know. 
What trials in our pilgrimage. 

Await us here below. 
But feel, while we are drifting on. 

Toward the better land. 
The mysteries of life and death, 

"Some Time, We'll Understand." 

156 



A BOY'S POEM 

When we wake up at early mom, 
And hear the roosters crow, 

We have to tumble out of bed, 
And to our choring go. 

We listen to the singing birds, 
We hear the old hens squall, 

And when we go milk the cows, 
The calves begin to bawl. 

And when our morning work is done. 
For breakfast then we rush, 

On flapjacks we will have a feast. 
And finish on fried mush. 

Then daddy goes with us to work, 

And has a set of rules. 
That the best horses he will drive. 

While we must work the mules. 

It seems so long till dinner time. 
We "sorter" take the blues. 

But when filled up on mother's grub. 
We lay down for a snooze. 

We dream of cake and pumpkin pie. 
Of bread and rabbit meat, 

Of sausage, cakes and butter beans. 
That are so good to eat. 

This little nap, tho very short, 

We love to think about, 
And when we hear our daddy yell. 

At once we hustle out. 

And we must work all afternoon, 
Which always raised the sweat, 

And cutting weeds, it seemed to us, 
The sun would never set. 

157 



REFLECTIONS OF DAVID 

Near Bethlehem, my native home, 
Where, as a youth, I used to roam, 

I watched beside the murmuring rills, 
My father's flocks among the hills. 

Along still waters I was led, 

Beneath the twinkling stars o'erhead, 

For me there was a cheerful scene, 
While wand'ring thru the pastures green. 

While in my shepherd's garb arrayed. 
In Palestine my harp I played, 

And from the music, catch sweet strains, 
Resounding o'er Judean plains. 

I've strolled along the mountain streams, 
Beneath fair Luna's smiling beams. 

Or gathered flowers thru the day, 
That always bloom in early May. 

I've seen the robin and the wren. 
When flitting thru the wooden glen. 

And other birds whose plumage shines. 
While singing in the swaying pines. 

But now those happy times are gone. 
And lonely days are drifting on. 

In Babylon so far away. 

We think of home land ev'ry day. 

We sat down by the river side. 
And in our loneliness we cried. 

When we remembered Zion's songs. 
And the Babylonian wrongs. 

But here our Jewish captive band. 

Could sing no songs in this strange land, 

And, waiting in the ev'ning breeze. 
We hung our harps on willow trees. 

158 



THE SEASONS 

When spring days fall upon the screen, 

And all the fields are robed in green; 
While we enjoy the morning breeze, 

And birds are singing in the trees, 
*Tis then we look for April rain, 

That falls upon the sprouting grain. 
Then catch sweet scents of new mown hay, 

In the beautiful month of May. 

And when the summer days begin, 

The month of June is ushered in. 
It comes with fragrant flowers rare. 

When sweet perfume floats in the air. 
And then the month of hot July, 

When cooler days have drifted by. 
While August follows in its train, 

With harvest fields of ripened grain. 

We greet September coming on, 

After the summer months are gone, 
And thru its pleasant days we share, 

The gentle breeze and balmy air. 
And in October we may see, 

The tint of gold on every tree. 
And when November makes her call, 

The autumn leaves begin to fall. 

And as the wintry days draw nigh. 

The withered leaves will droop and die. 
Then comes December bleak and cold, 

To close the year that's growing old, 
The Dahlia and the blighted rose. 

Lie dormant thni the drifting snows. 
There to await returning spring. 

When they'll revive and birds will sing. 

159 



A PATCH ON THE KNEE 

I went to town and on my way, 

I met an honest man one day, 
The clothes he wore, were neat and clean. 

As any one has ever seen, 
And being jolly all the while, 

He always met you with a smile, 
And looking closely I could see, 

A little 'Tatch Upon His Knee/' 

Tho one might watch, he could not trace. 

Dishonest looks upon his face. 
The needs of others he would share, 

And guarded all his ways with care. 
Thus, in his dealings you would find, 

That to his neighbors he was kind, 
And did not care if there should be, 

A little "Patch Upon His Knee. 



f* 



Another man that day I met. 

Who wore fine clothes, but was in debt, 
And often I would hear folks say, 

*Twas hard from him to get their pay. 
To your attention he would bring. 

An imitation diamond ring, 
And woula disdain as I could see. 

To have a "Patch Upon His Knee." 

With every one he cracked his jokes. 

And dressed in style like wealthy folks. 
He always wore a Stetson hat, 

A fancy shirt and silk cravat, 
Without the cash to keep in style. 

He let the merchant wait awhile. 
Not like the honest man he'd be. 

That had a "Patch Upon His Knee." 

160 



LIFE'S FADING STAR 

We launch upon the stream of time, 

In childhood's early years; 
And drift thru life's uneven way, 

Bestrewn with smiles and tears. 
Though we may meet with many trials, 

That will our pleasures mar, 
Yet we may look with growing faith, 

Beyond, "Life's Fading Star." 

And in maturer years we'll find, 

There are new paths to try; 
With many things to test our faith. 

While years go rolling by. 
But thru the varied scenes of life, 

Hope bids us look a-far. 
And view the mansions made for us, 

Beyond, "Life's Fading Star." 

When we have reached declining years, 

And age has dimmed our sight; 
For us there is no gloomy way. 

If living for the right. 
And drifting to the other shore, 

With Heaven's gates a- jar, 
We catch a glimpse of glory land, 

Beyond, "Life's Fading Star." 

And now with our unwav'ring trust, 

We will approach life's close; 
And reach at last the pearly gates, 

Where Eden's river flows. 
Thus we will anchor over there, 

And pass without regret, 
When we shall fully realize, 

"Life's Fading Star" has set. 

161 



HINDENBURG TO THE KAISER 

I vants to say to you Vilhelm, 
Our poys am vipped I see, 

I dun no vot de trooble vas, 
But you muz not plame me. 

For I hab poot 'em on de line, 
And tried to make 'em stay. 

But ven de Yankees got close up, 
Dey alvays rund avay. 

And as de Lordt won't helb no more, 

I dun no vot to do. 
And how to vind de pishness up, 

Vill not be left to you. 

Ob dem big guns dat rore so loud. 

Our soldiers vas afeered. 
And ven I saw dem on de run, 

I vas a leedle skeered. 

For like de debil Yankees fight, 
Wid dat short, sawed-off gun. 

And ven dey shoots him at our poys, 
Dey soon begins to run. 

And vhile dey am skeered up so bad, 
Wid doughboys on dair track. 

All hades coodn't stop the men, 
Ven dey got started back. 

Dem fighters from America, 
Dun no sich word as quit, 

Dey's offul reckless wid de gun, 
And don't keer where dey hit. 

162 



First de Bulgars hollerd nutf, 

And got out ob de ring, 
Dey woodn't helb us ainy more, 

And dis more troobles bring. 

Den vhile we keeps a fightin on, 

Wid out de helb of Gott, 
De Ottomans throws up de sponge, 

And strikes a Turkey trot. 

Den Austria and Hungary, 
Dey both begins to squeal. 

And sez dey neber keers a tarn, 
How bod it makes us feel. 

At last we hab surrendered all, 
But it most makes me sob. 

Because ve coodn't vip de world, 
And muss throw up de job. 



THE LIGHT AT HOME 

The light at home in days agone, 

I call to mind as years roll on. 
And while I went on pleasant nights, 

To see the city with its sights. 
The light at home would brightly bum. 

While mother watched for my return, 
In fancy I could plainly see, 

"The Light At Home," that burned for me. 



163 



1 wandered to a foreign clim6, 

That I might have a better time, 
But there my joy was incomplete, 

For none but strangers I would meet, 
I longed for friends I left behind, 

While thots of home would fill my mind, 
And then in fancy I could see, 

"The Light At Home," that burned for me. 

I stood upon the ocean strand, 

And looked toward my native land. 
The moss green banks along the stream, 

I often saw in pleasant dreams. 
The orchard and the meadow too. 

Would pass before me in review. 
And now in fancy I could see, 

"The Light At Home," that burned for me. 

The changing scenes where I would roam. 

Were not so grand as those at home. 
And from my loved ones far away, 

I felt I could no longer stay, 
I launched upon the drifting tide, 

And anchored on the other side. 
For in my fancy I could see, 

"The Light At Home," that burned for me. 

I landed on New England's shore. 

From whence I sailed some years before, 
And there among the sylvan hills. 

With rushing streams and placid rills, 
I passed the waving evergreens, 

While on my way to boyhood scenes. 
And still in fancy I could see, 

"The Light At Home," that burned for me. 



164 



LIFE ON THE FARM 

The one that chooses rural life, 

Is free from ev'ry city strife, 
And on the farm in many ways. 

He spends his pleasant nights and days. 
Among the singing birds, he loves 

The meadow larks and cooing doves, 
And always finds his greatest joy. 

When living as a country boy. 

And when the days of labor close. 

He seeks his cot for sweet repose, 
And listens to the pat'tring rain, 

That falls against the window pane. 
Next morning brings a cheerful scene, 

As he surveys the fields of green. 
Tho he may chance awhile to roam, 

He'll not forget his country home. 

For there his early years were spent, 

And with surroundings was content, 
He always took a great delight, 

In all he did from mom till night. 
Fanned by the gentle summer breeze, 

He'd rest beneath the cherry trees. 
And felt there was no better way, 

For him, than on the farm to stay. 

And yet the fellow, city bred. 

Will often get it in his head. 
That he is on a higher plane, 

Than those, who on the farm remain. 
He says to them, "Just come to town, 

And see the circus with its clown." 
He claims there is a greater charm. 

For him, than one upon the farm. 

165 



There will be lots of fun for you, 

In playing Bridge and "Forty-Two." 
Our handsome girls are hard to beat, 

And some of them you ought to meet. 
So come along and have a chance. 

To see them at a social dance. 
There need not be the least alarm. 

For you that live upon the farm. 

Our girls can spin a Reel with ease. 

And ev'ry one in this agrees. 
But now the farmer boy replies, 

Tho you may laud them to the skies. 
No fairer ones you've ever seen, 

Than country girls of sweet sixteen. 
And so he feels there's greater joy, 

In living as a farmer's boy. 



166 



INDEX— Part Tkr«« 

Consisting Of The Author's Poems 

Page 

Beautiful May 71 

If We Could Know 73 

Colloquy 74 

Campaign Song 

Tune— "Old Black Joe" 76 

The Dream Of Forty Twoers 77 

Prohibition Song 

Tune— "Yankee Doodle" 78 

Tribute To Little Marie 79 

Dreaming In The Shadows 80 

Temperance Song 

Tune — "In The Sweet By-And-By" 81 

The Cottage By The Old Grist Mill 82 

My Baby Brother 83 

To My Girls 84 

The Kaiser's Goat 85 

Tribute To Our Boys In France 86 

Conservation 87 

A Card Of Thanks 88 

The Orphan Boy 89 

The Silent Way 91 

My Boyhood Days 92 

Mother's Boy 93 

Days Gone By 94 

The Slackers 95 

Nature's Grandeur 97 

Souvenirs 99 

What I Would Be 100 

Naomi And Ruth 102 

Our Over-Land Trip In Verse 106 

The Ten Mile Zone 108 

Adam And Eve 110 

Childhood Dreams 112 

Jacob and Rachel's Cow 113 

If I Were Young Again 114 

The Battle Field Of France 

Tune — "Beautiful River" 116 

The Unseen Hand 117 

Mother's Prayer 118 

Germans vs. Sammies 

Tune — "Yankee Doodle" 119 

Our Soldier Boy 

Acrostic (Read downward the first letter in 

each line.) 120 

167 



Our Flag In The Church 121 

Our Little Folks 122 

The Prodigal Son 

Luke 15: 11-24 124 

The Soldier's Farewell 127 

Our Lady Voters 129 

The Beautiful "By-And-By" 130 

The Yanks At Berlin 131 

Only A Dream 132 

When Mother Goes Away 133 

True Greatness' 134 

Melon Colic Days 135 

That Missionary Dinner In The M. E. Church 136 

God Doeth All Things Well 137 

Will Our Boys Return? 138 

Buttin* In 139 

Marching On 140 

Soldiers* Reveries 141 

The Silver Lining 142 

Pleasant Dreams 143 

Our Nation's Flag 144 

When I Am Old 145 

Life's Contrasts 146 

Our Soldiers' Native Land 148 

The Conquered Foe 149 

Joan Of Arc 150 

Estacado's Early Days 153 

In Time, Or Too Late? 155 

Some Time We'll Understand 156 

A Boy's Poem 157 

Reflections Of David _, 158 

The Seasons 159 

A Patch On The Knee __160 

Life's Fading Star 161 

Hindenburg To The Kaiser ___162 

The Light At Home 163 

Life On The Farm ,-_._. ,,„, 165 



168 



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